The Journey
by Elvenson
Summary: Sequel to Tale of the Last Son- An elf, Celebrin, journeys into the East in a self-imposed exile to escape bitter memories and losses suffered after the war with Sauron.
1. Two years after

_Well here it is the sequel to Tale of the Last Son! For those who have not read the previous story, this one starts off in medias res (In the middle of things) so you might need to read the former to get the jist of what is happening._

_Disclaimer: Many of the characters are of Tolkien's creation, even the thinly drawn characters, such as the Ithryn Luin, and belong to his credit. Others, especially Celebrin, are of my own creation. _

_Please Read and Review, tell me what you thinkg I value it greatly._

* * *

_What song shall I sing?_

_For all is lost and the waves of the sea_

_Have taken all my life._

_Its charring melody has drawn all_

_From my side, leaving me barren,_

_As the desert wind leaves the earth,_

_Before the coming of the rain._

_

* * *

_

One thousands years after the defeat of Sauron, the deceiver, at what was once called The Last Battle, the empires of men had risen to their fullest glory, built so high upon the shoulders of the land of Eriador and the southern realm of Gondor, that one could not help but look at their height and wonder-When will they fall? Generations of mortals passed their lives, living in the beauty of their kingdoms, and yet all was not well. Two kingdoms once joined by the rule of one, now were parted into four, three in the north and one in the south, and the kin argued amongst themselves as to who had the right to claim their kinghood. For to the south lay the line of Isildur, first born son to Elendil, who died at the beginning of that age; and to the north, three sons descended from the line of Anarion, second son of Elendil, divided their father's kingdom amongst themselves. Yet to the elves, first born of the Earth's children, these matters cared little, for their kingdoms remained unchanged by the winds of time, and no matter how many times the stars rotated in the sky their lives endured and joy was lived in among their peoples. Yet Darkness grew in the realms of the elder kin, and shadows returned to haunt the forests of old. Fangorn, eldest of the last remaining great forests, was no longer inviting to the weak of heart, for it was said demonic beings haunted the trees and sorrowful moans of anger resonated among its chamber like halls of trees. Greenwood, became wrought with shadows, and all who traveled through it, be they dwarf or mortal, came to loath the roads that led through its ancient woven trees. The world had changed, the old ways passed away with the dawning of the reign of men, and the kingdoms of the elves were now without kings, save for one, tucked away in the net of Greenwood, that daily was besieged by great spiders, as if the ancient dark days had returned.

And in Mithlond, the sun would set day by day, bringing with it new occurrences and the city would once again be full of life, only to subside as a new year came around, for the sea wearied some, with its ever present call. And they would seek out new shores or the woodlands in the east. Eriador was inviting to these people, who came from lands, having lived hundreds, if not thousands of years before the elders of their kind were even but a thought. Yet Mithlond was more often than not the end of journeys, rather than the beginning of them. And the Gardens of Farewell were made abundant, forged by the hands of they who would depart from the world they had known for two ages or more.

One-thousand years after the beginning of the third age of the world, the sun began to set behind the plains of the ocean and stars appeared in the open valley of the sky as the wind blew through the gentle limbs of the cypress trees before the entrance to the hall of Cirdan. And sitting on a richly carved marble bench sat an elf whose downcast eyes watched as the sun set lower beyond the horizon. His raven dark hair blew freely in the parting winds, and his melancholic voice sang a tune of sorrow, broken with time and age; he sat facing the Path of Cirdan, his eyes transfixed on the harbor below him. His face was flawless as any of his kind save for one scar upon the right side of his face, in the form of a crescent, a tear of blood and skin that never healed in all the years of his life. His name is now lost among the voices of the mortals, seldom do any of his own kin remember his name, those who once did, have passed the confines of the world or are now silent airs upon wind. He rejoices not this day, nor had he rejoiced for two years hence, for the heart beneath his breast was broken and he cared little for the world without. And the sun set, leaving the world wrapped in slumber and nightshade, and the watcher's raven hair shimmered in the light of the fully waxed moon, its slender strands reflecting and refracting the silver moonlight, into small patterns of stars, mirroring the twilight of the world. He sighed as the falling of the sun and the rising of the moon brought the lighting of the Towers of Cirdan, symbols for ships at sea to heed the rocks before the sacred cove, and that the haven was closed to outside traffic, no more ships would come that day.

"Why do you sit here day by day, Perion? Always watching the harbor for signs of a return? You yourself said…"

"I am tired."

The voice behind him was deep and hale, aged with many years of knowledge and livelihood by the sea's edge. The lordly figure's stature was tall and he balanced the centuries long pearl white hair gracefully upon his crownless head, save for a small blue band rimmed with silver that he wore as a symbol of his lordship of the lands and the haven. Yet the elf before him, a youth compared to him in years, spoke so insolently that a lesser lord would have flogged the youth for such an action; but this figure only sighed in a muted shame, stopping the youth where he stood, hoping to continue their brief conversation.

"Celebrin…"

"Do not lay a hand on me. I gave you no such right."

"How long will you treat me as such? I did nothing…"

"Nothing…you call what happened nothing! For two years I have watched the shores to see for any sign of his return, and I find none…as far as I am concerned you sent him to his death."

"Perion…"

"You are not allowed to call me by that name! I have no father, save one whose mutilated body lies at the bottom of the ocean floor!"

And with that the raven haired elf stormed from the presence of the elven lord who had raised him from the time he was orphaned over an age of the world ago, and he stroked his new beard that had only recently begun to grow longer than stubble, and he too sat upon the gray-marble bench and watched the fires of the Towers light the dark and abysmal sea beyond.

* * *

"A sail! A sail!! A sail upon the dark sea!"

Sleep was broken that night by a horn blow from the harbor and the call of the guard, many lights lit the windows of buildings in the city, and the Hall of Cirdan lit its tower flame, a beacon that could be seen from any direction, whether by land or sea. The city was awakened from its dreams, yet the uneasy slumber of Celebrin was broken not by the call of the horn, but by memories of war and death, of blood and fire. Panting he awoke covered in his own sweat, and upon hearing the horn of warning he quickly dressed in his robe and as if by instinct and ran to the hall of Cirdan where many representatives from the different houses and kindreds gathered around the throne of the Shipwright, questioning as to why they were awakened from their slumber. One elf, whose bright ruddy hair and dark hazel eyes were aflame with indignance as he called out to the white haired lord,

"Cirdan! Why were we awakened from our sleep! There is no ship, it is the dead of night!"

"Calm your self, Cullofea…it was not I who called you from your high home upon the hill, but the wardens at the arms of the cove. I do not know their intent for blowing the horn of warning. It is possible they were alarmed by a whale close to the cove or they saw something beyond the haven that is worth speaking of."

Then a gasping and trembling elf entered the hall coming to the steps below the seat of Cirdan and struggling to make out words to the noble lord before him. Cirdan walked down to the elf and called for water; having drunk from the glass, the elf was inquired by Cirdan, who helped him to his feet,

"What is it you saw Gildor? Was it you who blew the horn?"

"I…Indeed it was…hir Cirdan…I saw a sail…a white sail, bearing the mark…of the lonely Isle."

Cirdan froze where he stood until his name was called out by the ruddy haired noble-elf, and his first words were,

"Return to you homes…I shall handle this myself."

The grudging elves exited the grand hall leaving Cirdan sitting in his chair, holding his forehead in his hands. Celebrin alone was left in the hall with him, having helped Gildor from the hall; he hesitated at first to say something, yet he set his eyes to the floor and turned to walk out of the hall. Then a voice called to him,

"Per…Celebrin, please stay here… I may need you near the end."

Hearing these words made Celebrin sigh, debating whether or not to defy his lord's command- so much hate boiled beneath his breast, loathing for this ancient, gentle elf who showed nothing but kindness to him; and yet, so too did this lord, knowing full well what would come to pass, betray any bond they had as father and son.Even soCelebrin remained behind, his back turned to the elven lord, standing as a silent guard, though he was dressed in naught but a robe of gray and silver fabric. It was not long before there came a knock at the great door, and they were opened by elves from the tower guard who themselves escorted five cloaked figures, who surprisingly stood taller than their escorts.

At first the guards of the towers looked frightened by the mere presence of these tall figures, though one of them was bent as an old man, leaning heavily upon a staff made of gnarled wood, and wore on his head a gray pointed hat, and a fine gray robe wrapped around his frame. At the head of this odd train strode a tall elderly looking man with a small beard; he was dressed in pearl white, pure and unblemished by any stain, even at his feet, yet he bore a black staff and from his wily eyes one could discern power unimaginable, and few even among the elves could discover his thought at any moment. Behind him stooped the gray figure, as noble as the former, even though his back was bent by some unknown weight, yet his eyes spoke not of power but of laughter and joy bubbling at the surface of the water in his eyes. Behind him, side-by-side, walked two figures dressed in hues of blue; their robes were of similar pattern, though one's main hue was of darker shades of blue, and the other lighter shades. In their clear blue-gray eyes one felt the force of the wind and the rushing of the river water as it leapt from the precipice of a cliff or a canyon. Their mood was quiet and alone one would seem not as important as the other two before them, yet together they spoke of an other worldly power, as if plucked from the bottom of the sea and the highest of the airs. These two Celebrin watched more intently than the others, for to him they were wrought with the soul of freedom in their veins, the freedom of the wind and water that broke mountains and moved the impressive oak to its whim. Behind them walked, with a joyful grin upon his face, a shorter figure, dressed in a simple brown robe wielding a staff made of simple wood; his image made Celebrin want to smile, something he had not done in years, for it was full of happiness and joy, as if he had not tested storms or was weighed down by worries.

Before the seat of Cirdan they stood, until the ancient elf at last stood, and spoke to them as in all matters as he would any traveler,

"Greetings travelers from a distant land, I am Cirdan, the Lord of Mithlond, and this…is Celebrin, head of the tower guard…Tell me what is your business here?"

The white one spoke in a voice as seductive as the call of the immortal sea, bidding all lesser in mind to follow his words,

"Lord Cirdan of Mithlond, we have heard much about you- all of it in high regard…we have come, great lord, as messengers sent from the land farthest west of your own, that lies on a path none may trod save they born before it was marred. Our names- we have none to give in this world- and we come by orders kept most confidential by the powers of the world. Though we bring word, your time of peace is fast coming to a close, the darkness once defeated has returned and all must be done to keep the mistakes of the past from returning…"

Even Celebrin found his words to be music, yet Cirdan glared at this being before him, no doubt surprised by his presence, yet unmoved by the honeyed word from his mouth, instead he looked at the bent figure dressed in gray.

"This I know strange traveler, nothing is done in Ennor that does not pass my ears…my question to you is, why came you to a land you know not of, to bring a message that is ever present in our eyes?"

To this the gray one stood tall upon his staff and spoke in a voice as ancient as the former, yet kinder and more real than anything, while the other was a treat for the mind, his was a treat for the heart, awakening the very soul of whom he spoke to.

"Our quest is simple Cirdan,son of Cuvienen, we have been sent to help you in this time of growing darkness, though it seema littletrifflenow. To be honest, we have come to tip the balance of the coming shadow, one that will test the fabric of all people in this world."

"Why come to the Eldar, gray traveler? Our power here is less than it once was…our kings of old are gone, and our kingdoms and peoples divided, weary of war, and, at times, weary of life."

"Because…it was the Eldar who knew the powers first…and it is the Eldar who hold influence over the younger minds of men, though this Alliance is fast coming to a close. The future now stands upon the edge of a knife, the darkness is gathering as we speak, and you are the gate keeper to the west, the last of whom the Powers trust whole heartedly…they remember the folly of men, and trust them less than they once did."

"You speak true Mithrandir... for your honesty you have earned my trust…what do you require great ones from across the sea?"

All this Celebrin watched hearing of the gathering shadow, his eyes never leaving the gathered five, white, gray, blue and brown; he heard all that was said, and stood silent until their discussion went late into the night: chairs were brought for the five to sit upon, though they did not look weary at all. Celebrin stood in the darkness, watching all that unfolded before his eyes, history in the making, and he leaned upon one of the great stone columns, his thoughts turning from the past to the present, remembering from the days of his youth eyes of gray that looked out to him from a distance, borne by one of the majestic creatures his foster-father called_ maiar._ And he questioned their coming, and what it foretold of how the road that was straight remained open, knowing now for certainhis companion lay not at the bottom of the immortal sea, and instead lived in bliss where he himself would not dare to step foot on. And sorrow took him again, the longing of his heart reaching out beyond what he witnessed and he heard the song of the sea, calling to him, in a hollow and whispering voice

Give yourself to me! My cold, cold grasp will cool your impassioned heart and ease your wounded sorrow…cast yourself into me and go to the grave of they who left you, caring not for what they left behind.

In his waking dream Celebrin's breaths began to heave, feeling the cold of ice surrounding him, and images of twisted and mutilated beings- once fair as he was- prodding the floor as common fell beasts. The scar upon his cheek began to sting, and his vision soon became blurred and he found himself short of breath. And he ran out of the hall, causing the travelers to stand at his alarm; Cirdan bid them sit and excused himself from their presence, signaling the servants to bring food and drink for these guests.

Andthe shipwrightfound Celebrin gasping for air, leaning heavily upon an ancient cedar; he began to speak, helping Celebrin to a bench nearby,

"Come, it is the sickness, it has been dormant for so long, it has had time to brew…"

"Do not touch me! I am not a child to be helped at all times."

"I am trying to help you because you are ill Celebrin."

"Well don't, you have guests return to them…I will be fine."

And Cirdan assented to this, leaving the young elf sitting upon the bench, wiping a trail of blood streaming from his right cheek. He buried his head in his hands and wept, his mood turning quickly from anger to sorrow, so quickly, it left him disturbed and agitated. Then a gentle voice from behind him spoke out, its accent denoting ancient Noldorin, and its flavor as if from beyond the sea, knowing two lives and being in one,

"Are you the son of Uial? Who is the lone kin to Cirdan, the Lord of this land?"

And Celebrin turned to see a shimmering face, as pale as the light of the white sun, and whose hair shimmered golden as elanor in the fields of Lorien; this traveler looked as if he was plucked from out of legend, for indeed he bore the description of a fabled hero in the tales of the Noldor Celebrin heard so many times with reverence from his former companion. The elf stood tall yet his downcast face looked straight into Celebrin's speaking of an ancient connection, Beleriand, fortheancient landwas written in their eyes. Celebrin looked into this elf's hazel eyes and said,

"Yes, I am he."

The golden-haired elf sat beside him, and handed him a white handkerchief, with which he wiped the blood from his reopened wound. There was silence between them at first as the sea air whirled around them, embracing them in its coolgrasp, yet the Golden haired elf spoke at last,

"I have searched for you from the time I stepped off the ship, yetfew here knew of you or if they did they knew not where to find you. And so I searched going from garden to pavilion, seeking out the name of Celebrin, rather your many other names, to no avail, for it seemed that even at this late hour, you were forgotten-vanished fromt he face of the earth. I heard you were the kin of Cirdan, and so I came here hoping to find you…If it is no insult to you, I must say you exceed your description Uialion."

"What do you want?"

"I was sent by one who bid me with all his will to give you this,"

The elf took from his belt an item wrapped in a scarlet fabric, which was embroidered with the figures of flying swans; this sash Celebrin knew well and quickly unwrapped what was inside. Having done so he saw a brooch in the form of a swan in flight, made of a rare black stone, and edged with mithril and silver, winding this way and that upon it as visible wisps of air. The brooch of Alphindil lay in his hands as it once did years ago, when they parted ways in times of war, unsure of whether they would see one another again. At the sight of this jewel tears strew down his face and he hid these from the stranger, shamed of how he acted, so sorrowful, so childish. Yet the golden-haired elf laid his arm around him, giving him support unlooked for, saying,

"I see by your reaction you are the elf this was meant for…Do not be ashamed for the tears you cry, I heard your tale of sorrow, and wept myself on hearing it. This was given to me for you, with a message, ' Though our paths are parted, my friend,and our hearts as well- may this be a reminder of happier times, when innocence was in our hearts. Even as your gift to me is cherished, cherish this also.'... Do not be ashamed of your tears, for not all tears are evil."

The golden-haired elf stood from where he sat and headed toward the doors of the great hall, yet before he walked two steps Celebrin spoke, keeping his gaze upon the brooch,

"What is your name traveler?"

"I was called Glorfindel in earlier times, though in this age and time, my name may very well be so as well Uialion."

"Call me Celebrin, it is my true name."

"I shall...Celebrin…goodnight"

"Goodnight... Glorfindel"

And with that he turned and entered the hall; Celebrin stood from where he sat and walked down the path and turned at the ancient stone fountain before the two cypresses that lay before the way to the Hall, and he went to his house, that stood a short way off, and opened the door to darkness. He lit a small lamp and gazed at the brooch in his hand, touching every detail with his fingers, smelling the sash it came wrapped in, its scent carrying him through years of memories until its final end. Cursing his weakness he threw the objects into a box that stood on the mantle piece and placed it under his bed, wishing not to see it; and he lay on his bed, burying his face into his pillow, still holding the blood stained handkerchief in his hand.


	2. Through Eriador

_Okay well the line feature isnt working with me so any way, here is the second chapter to The Journey. It is long and possibly far-reaching but im trying not to turn this piece into another 30 chapter epic, probably 25 or so. anyway enjoy. _

The morning of the new day brought forth many new wonderings and occurrences, yet to the crowd who had gathered at the hall all that was said was that visitors from distant lands spoke silently with the Shipwright. Yet the inquisitive hearts of the crowd were not satisfied at that; it was then that one of the travelers revealed himself before them, his golden hair blowing in the wind as if he had stepped out of time and space, not heeding anymore the call of death and shadow-filled existence. The few remaining Noldor from the ancient world remembered this figure immeadiatly and word traveled through all the courts and pavilions, the dead had come to life, and the straight path remained open to the Eldar.

Yet within the confines of the Hall silent words were spoken, and five mysterious travelers spoke with the Lord of Mithlond, who sat in his seat and peered deep into the recesses of their mind, trying to navigate their murky and misted nature. One alone he could peer into, yet it was only by the will of he who was being searched over; his gray eyes opened before the white haired lord and within the minds eye Cirdan saw before him a figure standing tall amid the rest, whose gray curtain revealed a hidden light of pale white and whose honorable beard blew as sea foam upon the wind. When that day had come to a close the five strangers turned to be taken to their lodgings by secret paths through the city. Yet as the Gray Traveler turned to follow his comrades Cirdan stood and called to him; at first there as silence between them as they read one another's thoughts, on as old as the earth itself, the other far beyond the years counted in these days. Between them there was wisdom enough to rule the entire world, and yet in all their lives they submitted themselves to roles in which they served those who came after their time or were in truth lesser of power. At last Cirdan spoke turning to Celebrin who apathetically stood guard over the western door, farthest from the Seat of the Shipwright, with his back turned,

"Celebrin…come."

Silently Celebrin walked over to the elf upon the elevated platform and without making eye contact he answered stoically,

"Yes…Lord Cirdan."

His formal tongue seemed to strike at the core of something within the ancient elf, a loss it seemed plagued his thoughts; the sight of the elf before him reminded him of how for two years his foster-son sat brooding in the darkness of his room, refusing anything, even food and water.

"Celebrin, in my study there is a small box upon a high shelf…it bears a marking- a silver tree beneath a golden sun, and beneath the tree stands a black anvil. Please bring it to me."

In silence Celebrin left without even bowing to the lord before him; the Gray Traveler looked upon this scene with much interest, his noble face, which yet bore no scar or hard-carved wrinkles, was wroth with worry and he spoke in a kind and gentle voice to the lord before him,

"Lord Cirdan, is this a new form of service to lords from their servants? Not bowing to they who should be shown respect? Or, unless my eyes have cheated me, this youth's actions are common place in this kingdom?"

"Nay Mithrandir, the youth is…my kin, my foster-son, whom I have raised since he was but an orphaned child, many years ago."

"Even so, he seems to not know you have done such a thing for him?"

"I fear, new friend, that I am of all most deserving of his anger and hatred…I betrayed his trust, and the care that should exist between father and son..."

"Ah…you mean of course the lame sea-traveler…who last sailed beyond these shores…Yes, Lord Cirdan, I have met this youth, and have heard his story…"

"Then you know why my foster-son hates me so. What breech of trust I had committed in helping that youth."

"Your actions, are not worthy of hate, your foster-son will see this soon enough, and if he does not ere the end of his life, then the injury you have caused him was deeper than any could have thought of…even so the fault does not lie wholly upon you, it is the way of the world to break hearts…you know this surely enough?"

Cirdan looked at the traveler before him, who naught but two days ago was a stranger, and now spoke with him as if they had known each other for years uncounted-_in him_, Cirdan thought, _there lies a light I cannot see with my eyes._ At this time Celebrin walked into the great hall, looking down at the artifact in his eyes-his memory running to the last time he saw this box he now held, carved of dark mountain wood, and bearing the symbols most identifiable with Celeborn, Galadriel, and Celebrimor-the Lords of Eregion, the lost. In an awkward silence he handed the small box to Cirdan, knowing full-well what it carried within it, and becoming increasingly aware that it remained in there ever since that night many centuries ago, when Lorien and Greenwood did not exist in the maps of the elves yet, and the ancient world seemed so close as if it were only a few nights ago.

The Ancient Elf opened the box with a key that hung from around his neck, and from the box an amber light emitted, as an ember that clings to life when the wood has been turned completely to ash. And yet in the hands of the shipwright it began to shimmer brighter, and brighter until it blazed forth its hidden light and lit the entire room in its warm amber glow, bringing all things to truth in the mind, bringing courage to the weary, awe to the disheartened, and hope to they who had little. Yet as soon as the light appeared it vanished, returning again to the small ruby gem that sat within a golden band, which lay in the hand of Cirdan. Holding his hand out to the gray traveler before him he spoke with great conviction and will,

"Mithrandir I call you, because you came to us, wandering it seems, clad in gray, the hue held most sacred to Teleri-a reminder of times long past, when our valourious people lived among the twilit trees of Neldoreth, and Eglarest- and a hue that hides a hidden strength, as a veil does a candle burning in the hidden paths of the forest. Take this, Olorin, and find better use of it than I ever had, for you I see it was made, because only you have the strength to wield it and bring strength to weary hearts. Take now this ring…for thy labours and thy cares will be heavy, but in all it will support thee and defend thee from weariness. For this is the Ring of Fire, and herewith, maybe, thou shalt rekindle hearts to the valour of old in a world that grows chill."

Looking at Celebrin, who now looked at his foster-father in a subdued awe, the ancient elf saw the image of the brother he cared deeply for so many years before and who helped to build his former kingdoms even as his son had aided in building Mithlond; yet who now bore a face of sorrow and sadness, pain and anger, shame and pride. A small tear welled in his eyes and he continued looking at the downcast face of this elf whom he loved as his own son.

" But as for me…my heart is with the Sea, and I will dwell by the gray shores, guarding the Havens until the last ship sails. Then I shall await thee."

Celebrin looked up at his foster-father and peered directly into his eyes when he had said this, not knowing whether the last comment was meant for him, or for the gray-clad traveler- and it filled him with an ever-present doom, as if the ancient elf spoke of a time far beyond in years, that seemed too near for the youth's liking. Silence filled the rest of the day as the gray-traveler left the hall seeking rest, now bearing a precious gift hidden deep within his robes.

As night fell over the land and sleep came for all, Celebrin leaned upon an arch-leg that held aloft a domed walkway that surrounded the Hall of Cirdan; he faced his eyes westward, holding his arms around him, shielding his heart from some unknown evil, some unfelt cold from the wind in the sea. Behind him he heard the soft patter of footsteps and the swishing of robes in the sea-wind; turning he beheld an elf dressed in night-clothes the hues of the night sky that is littered with clouds bearing rain from the sea, foretelling a storm to come to the land. The shadowed figure hid his face in the dark, yet to Celebrin the clothing was familiar to him, as was the voice behind it, to the figure he spoke returning his gaze to the ever moving sea. Cirdan entered the pale moon light of the crescent, which hung in the distance dropping below the zenith of the sky toward the rising Earendil; looking ahead at the ever-present sea he at last spoke,

'The strangers wish to see the whole of Ennor, all the lands east of Mithlond and South of Angmar…They seek… a guide."

"What business is that of mine?"

"I have…elected you to be their guide…before you yell at me hear this, though it pains me to send you away after so many years of not seeing you, it is only fitting that such honored guests have the best of guides…you alone in Mithlond have seen the lands farthest East, and you alone know the roads and paths they may take in secret, to wherever they wish."

"Is this how you apologize? Sending away the troubles you cannot deal with, placing them on other's hands?"

"Do not say such things of me Celebrin, I raised you when you had no one, I deserve that much respect!"

"You raised me? While you were busy building your kingdom, I was being raised by the stable-hands, by the fishers, by the cooks, healers, masons, gardeners, and smiths…You raised me Lord Cirdan? Yes you raised me…to only know duty over the feelings of the heart."

"Be wary of what you say Celebrin, I have only struck you once in my life, do not make me do it again!"

"Strike me then! And give me the reason I need to never see you again… You knew about his departure, and yet you said nothing…You gave him the idea in the first place! And yet you did not choose to speak to me about it!!"

"He was in pain Celebrin! What was I to do? It was not I who ordered you not to go with him, I had hoped you would go that road, and yet you did not, for what reason is beyond me…There are times Celebrin that your stubbornness is worse than your father's! A stubbornness that brought death upon him!"

Cirdan's rash phrase stunned Celebrin at first, it was at this moment that he felt threatened by the ancient shipwright, a feeling that caused him to growl primeavally from his breast. Before his eyes he no longer saw the proud stature of his foster-father, rather he saw red flame and a stinging pain burned at his right cheek. Cirdan's face turned to worry as he recalled what he had said, and as he tried to mouth an apology Celebrin spoke,

"Tell me when we leave and you will be rid of me then."

"You…you leave tomorrow at the third hour of the day…Celebrin…"

"I must ready myself then…goodnight, my lord."

Cirdan stared out into the sea, looking in the direction where his foster-son had just stood, and he breathed heavily, realizing what he had done, and he cursed his words beating his hands upon the stonework of the hall.

The next morning Celebrin sat upon Thingalad facing the eastern gate, waiting anxiously for the five travelers to come forth upon their own horses- it had been years since he had again traveled openly in Eriador, yet this did not bother him, all he felt was a great desire to be as far from the haven as possible-this Thingalad seemed to sense, for the wild gray white horse trotted nervouslt to and fro. At last, he was joined by the five travelers- dressed in heavy robes, which hid their bright clothing beneath sea-gray. And a sixth came, yet not dressed in gray, rather he wore brazenly the mark of Gondolin upon his tunic and allowed his infamous Golden hair to flow openly in the morning wind that came in from the sea. He rode up beside Thingalad and spoke openly to the Celebrin,

"Why do you look so Celebrin? Does this journey not bode well for you?"

"Nay Lord Glorfindel, rather I am joyous at this departure…merely deep in thought."

The voice of Cirdan broke their conversation as he opened his hands in farewell to the small company of seven,

"Travelers, may the blessings of Mithlond be upon you, as you travel roads that lead beyond the mountains. Be safe, and return when thou wilst…Mithlond is ever open to you, as is my hall."

And in his mind Celebrin heard the voice of Cirdan speaking to him,

_Think better of me when you return_

And the youth turned Thingalad toward the eastern door saying outloud,

"The hour is late, the time has come to ride…Farewell, Lord Cirdan."

Farewell, my son. 

And they rode into the east, passing beyond the White Towers, into a small country land, where once Celebrin had sang beneath the stars a lullaby beneath a tree that had now grown to a large height and whose branches covered a large field in its shade. Passed that land they rode and far into the sunset and through the night they stayed in an old forest, where as he sat at watch with Glorfindel he heard a song in the distance, a song from an old and ancient voice, that seemed to call to him from a time long passed.

And for the next days they rode, sometimes at speed, most times at a slow and methodical pace, as he would describe the lands they had passed and the ones they were passing. At every stop he would answer their questions, and would show them where rivers led and from where they came. He spoke of the Kingdoms of the mortals, and where now the three kings lay their claim. Yet their road was not straight, for it curved this way and that, as he spoke of landmarks, and other secret paths to take to get places quicker or in need of stealth. The traveler known at this time as Mithrandir would sit and speak with him for hours on end into the night, of the paths held most secret by the elves, and how the land had changed. Yet Celebrin spoke less of such things, save only when he felt in a better mood, it was at these times the Travelers dressed in sea-blue would speak with him concerning the shores south of where they now traveled. And oddly enough he would speak with them openly of items he spoke seldom to others, for in them he saw what he had been searching for his entire life, a gentle blending of the Sea and the Woods. They would stay silent, the three of them, and hear the sound of the wind, which would carry a mountain song from the east down into the river valleys of Eriador. And it was at these times that Celebrin felt most peaceful, until one day as they slept on the wayside of the main road toward the Mountains of Mist dreams of darkness plagued his thoughts, and he tossed in his sleep, until Glorfindel awoke him, only to have a hidden dagger thrust at his direction. The raven-haired elf was subdued by the larger Noldor, and pantings of terror gave way to soft breaths of disturbed sleep and mumblings to the darkness.

That morning he awoke to find the two travelers in blue sitting with their back to him, tending the fire with their long smoothly polished staves; their conversation reached his ears as one with the deeper hues spoke in a voice as the deep caverns of the mountain or as the crashing of the waves upon the cliffs of Mithlond,

"…pain seems unbearable for him Alatar…I fear for his safety and the safety of our mission were he to come with us."

"But Pallando, he needs this, you saw how he acted in Mithlond, how it pains him to remain here longer…and you know as well as I we have no chance on our own in the East. We need him as much as he needs us."

The second's voice came from the one dressed in lighter hues of blue, whose tone was as a light and gentle breeze as that which flies through the woods of Lorien into the deep river valley of the Anduin. The former spoke with as much conviction as the later, yet in his voice one could deem a higher quality to his voice, though it sung in the lower registers.

"Our mission does not involve the first born. They have little to no need of our help, their kingdoms are founded, their leaders chosen. Our mission was to safe-guard Arda for the future, not re-make it for the past."

"And his future is the future of Arda, the first born are still as much a part of this world as the second born, it is their future we fight for also-even if it be for a brief moment."

"He has duties here, we cannot ask him…"

"I still say we should, he is of more value to us in the unknown east than any lord makes use of him here."

"Where do you go Masters Pallando and Alatar? And whom do you intend to bring with you?"

The two elderly looking men turned around quickly to see the object of their discussion wide awake behind them, his raven hair flowing in the morning breeze, and his ages old scar brightly showing signs of reopening from the previous night. The deeper hued one, who was now known as Pallando smiled at the ground and stroked his short pointed gray beard and stood tall before the elf, shadowing his features from the dawning sun.

" You, Master Uial, you were the person we were conversing about, rather rudely I might add- then again you were evesdropping so I assume we are even in that respect."

"And even so, you refer to me as a child, unable to make my own decisions, despite my age and experiences."

At this point the one called Alatar spoke, his voice the fairer of the two travelers, and seemingly younger.

"We did not mean to demean you for the task Master Uial, merely that other duties might become paramount to what we…wish to ask of you."

"Which would be?"

"Myself and my companion Alatar, were sent…to bring relief to the abandoned East, where men have lived under the influence of the darkness for far too long. It is our hope that if the Dark one is indeed defeated or biding his time, then we may have a chance to prevent his victory in those lands…or at least minimize it."

"I know not the lands of the East, or at least as far as you wish to travel, I of course would be of no use."

"Yet, if there remain Avari in the East then…"

"Silence Alatar!"

Pallando nudged his companion with his staff looking in the direction of the river that flew down the mountain rise into the valley occupied called the Rhudaur, the valley just outside of the borders of Imladris, where centuries ago, victory was claimed in the northern kingdom, and the dark deceiver went west toward the island nation of Numenor.

The other three travelers and Glorfindel were walking toward the others at a slow and methodical pace, the signs were clear they had gone foraging around the area surveying the land they had never seen with their eyes, save they who saw it in its infancy if ever they saw it in days long past. And thus did the journey continue, with no words spoken of the East or of the ever so secretive mission of the travelers. Celebrin wondered at the usage of the word he had come to equate with a mysterious and mythic people, even among the Eldar…the Avari, a lost and forgotten people, whose fate was never truly known. Some assumed they had become the dreaded orcs of the days of Beleriand, or rather that when Arda broke and was made round Cuvienen was lost into the bowls of the earth and they with it. These thoughts plagued Celebrin until the lights of Imladris' lamps entered his eyes and his mind was turned to the news he must tell the lady of the lord's house, who had lost a friend two years ago, when his heart broke and was marred, it seemed, for all time.


	3. Imladris

_Sorry this a bit long_

_Important facts to note: It is the year 1000 of the third age, _

* * *

Once again he was welcomed warmly into the bosom of Imladris with open arms, for word had spread before their coming of the visitors, especially that of Glorfindel; few there were who remembered those old days when he was alive in his former self, chief among these was Erestor, the high council of Elrond himself. Yet their excitement was muted as the small company of travelers arrived in the dead of the night as many lay eyes-open in the world of dreams, and the only witnesses to their arrival were the guards and the lord and lady of Imladris themselves. When they arrived the Hall of Fire was warm and the hearth was at a sleepy blaze, barely lit to warm the home of Elrond, yet inside the Elven Lord's study many candles were lit and refreshments poured out for the guests. As they entered the vast study the smell of parchment and leather-bound books filled their noses, which had become acquainted with the smells of the wild and of the sea; Elrond himself greeted them at the gate and escorted them to his home where stood his wife dressed in a flowing white robe, Celebrian, the silver queen of Lorien, as she was called in those days. Upon seeing her brother-friend she went directly to him and embraced him, a smile worn without worry or malice graced her visage; and yet he, said merely a simple greeting of 

"Good evening gwathel…"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes only tired."

And with that the guest lapsed into a brief conversation with the Lord Elrond before they too wish for rest from their long journeying; as they were shown to the guest quarters Celebrian waited behind and took Celebrin by the arm as they walked over the bridge that scaled the air above the rushing current of Bruinen.

"Alphindil stayed in Mithlond? That is a strange action for him…even injured he would always jump at the chance to travel, here at the very least?"

"Yes…he did."

"What news does he bring us? Surely the children would wish to hear from him?"

"He kept in contact with them?"

"Of course, every year he would write, speaking of the happenings of Mithlond, sending greetings from you…greetings… I assume you never knew about?"

"No… I …did not know about them."

"Celebrin? Is everything alright?"

"I…am tired Celebrian, I will see you next morn? Goodnight."

And with that he turned leaving her in the arm of her husband and shifted quickly into the night and to the home he kept vacant, if by chance he chose to travel to Imladris, a home that long belonged to him ever since the founding of the refuge. Even in the darkness he could find his way around it, fingering the headboard and frame of the bed he carved with his own hands. The detail jumping out into his memory, each crevice and groove speaking of the years he spent in that place; and yet now- now when the heaviness of war was not weighing upon him the room felt so empty and sterile of life. The darkness filled the room and the light of the waning moon lit only the area closest to the window; and he felt now what it was to be alone. For in the years he spent in Mithlond he always moved here and there, running errands, keeping busy, too busy to truly allow it to sink in. Yet here in the darkness of the room, with no lord to call him to duty, no war to keep his thought focused, he felt the loneliness and the unknown creep about him, he was a servant without a master, an orphan again of his own doing. And so that night passed, and the quiet of the new morn was disturbed by a morning song as the rosy sun passed into the deep valley.

That morning was like any other, the air was abound with talking children and the gossip of the new days, yet now there was also an air of finality to these days, as if they were numbered and their end was coming soon to a close, for the paths north were now rumored to be wrought with peril and darkness. The name Angmar became feared by those who would pass by the old road, rather than take the journey to the southern gap or beneath the mountains through the realm of the Naugrim. Rumor had grown of a shadowed figure lurking in the fastness of the northern arms of the Mountains of Mist, gathering all things dark and perilous to it, yet its threat was felt less than the shadow that grew in the East; the folk of Thranduil remained hidden in the fastness of their kingdom, surrounded by the light gorging webs of spiders.

Yet to the elves the world was not so perilous, for they who had known this evil from birth judged it to be minimal, or remnants of the past evil that was being purged from the land. And in Imladris all remained guarded by the ever-present watch of the Bruinen and the house of Elrond; and joyous song drowned out the gossip of the darkening of the world without. There amid the tall changing leaves of spring, sat the Silver Queen of Lorien, strumming at a small wooden harp while in the distance youths danced to the playing of flutes, two twin elves danced with their kinswoman as others played their wooden instruments. Celebrin, in fresh and newly cleaned garb, watched as they enjoyed their merriment, and as he watched he wondered how he was to tell she who was sitting there so peacefully, what had taken him months to come to terms with; in truth a part of him wish he was in a dream world, and he would rise from his dreaming and hear the patter of pans and the preparation of the morning meal in the other room, coupled with the sounds and smells of the crashing waves. His name being called awakened him from his daydream as he saw the seated figure motion for him to sit beside her. Breathing in a deep breath of composure he sat beside her as they both watched the youths in the distance circle a stump of a broken tree, flowers opening in the morning at their beckoning. The lady of Imladris chuckled to herself, the old wild laugh of a youthful elven woman replaced with a deep motherly one, which brought forth the essence of the earth into the air. Celebrin was content to merely watch, knowing only that such a distraction took away from the duty he must perform; and he thought to himself,

_Why had I not written to speak of what happened? Was I ashamed of what had come to pass? And if so ashamed for who? Of what?_

"What thoughts eat at you my brother?"

"Nothing Celebrian, only that this life seems to fit you every time another day passes…and a wonderment at how protected you are, and safe from the world outside."

"Is everything alright? You were cryptic yesterday…not yourself."

"And how am I supposed to act?…Forgive me…I am at odds with my…with the Lord Cirdan."

"So I have heard…and it must be something of importance, you have never in all the years I have known you, referred to him as "Cirdan". What did he do? Or rather what did you do this time?"

"It is nothing…"

Celebrian gave her friend an imploring look, mixed with disbelief, and Celebrin brought his eyes down to the earth. And he felt the uneasiness of the moment creep around him, causing him to rise and pace the ground looking for the words to come for him, and in silence hoping something would come and help him to get the words out and make some of this awkwardness end. He opened his mouth, remembering the past two years in Mithlond, and his voice spoke the name he had loathed to hear, yet wished to every moment, his voice cracking beyond the sound of tears and a whispering whimpering voice left his mouth as he said,

"Al…Alphindil…"

"Yes? What happened? …Celebrin?"

He could not bring the words to his mouth, they stuck to the back of his throat choking him in salty tears and the face of Celebrian turned to worry as no word came forth from her friend, she motioned to say something but was interrupted by a fair and weeping voice,

"Naneth?"

"Yes Arwen? What is it, I am busy."

"Forgive me, but my necklace… it broke."

And the gentle illuminated hands showed the seated lady a pendant made of silver and mithril, and where once sat a pearl of radiant and shimmering hues no was a vacant seat of unpolished silver. Swan wings of silver now were broken and lying beside the main body of the pendant. The silver haired lady knew of where this pendant came and she placed her hand to her mouth as she took the gentle jewel into her other hand, looking only at the downcast face of Celebrin with wonder and sorrow, her voice cracked beneath the weight of her thoughts,

"How…?"

"Elrohir spun me too quickly, I lost my balance and it…it flew off my neck…please Naneth I didn't mean to break it."

The slender elf maiden knelt before the seated figure, stroking the skirts of her mother trying to discern her thoughts. Celebrian only kept her gaze upon the raven haired elf before her, whose tired, worn and tearless eyes spoke of thoughts that few could fathom. As the elf-maiden tried to coax a reaction out of her mother, Celebrin placed his hand upon her shoulder, guiding her away toward her on-looking brothers, and with all the strength that was left in him he spoke to her with a voice bespeaking of ancient wisdom,

"It is alright child, you were not at fault…it was other matters, such things can be replaced or remade, now dry your tears and return to your brothers."

As the maiden left, he turned once again to the seated figure he found her eyes keeping their gaze directed at his own, her fists were clenched and from on a small stream of blood poured out into the grass. Celebrin quickly wrested the jewel from her hand and laid it gently, with reverence, upon the floor. She looked in his eyes and asked,

"How…how did he die?"

"He… is… not dead."

"Do not lie to me Celebrin…I know the work of Alphindil to never have broken, why now, if he not be dead?"

"He…he is no longer upon this soil, that much is true…he…he is gone from this world, and now lives in another."

"When?"

"Two years hence..."

"And you did nothing! Wrote no letter sent no word to me! How could you be so callous Celebrin, and leave me thinking he still dwelt upon this world!"

"Is it not enough that I had to endure his leaving!? Only to know your pity as well? Or rather to be coddled for being too weak to leave with him? I was ashamed to be so weak! To have loved …and have had my heart broken again was too much to bear! …I have been sick Celebrian… all my years of delayed illness have assailed me- like a fool I believed myself to be impervious to the war sickness, only to have had it grow, until the moment when I had no strength to defend against it… How could I have sent word, when I could find no strength to give it?!"

And with that he feel to his knees and wept before all in the garden, his moans of weeping interrupting the course of the joyful day, and the Silver Lady wrapped her arms around her friend and muffled his cries with her bosom and she brought his ears to her heart as she sent all away and comforted him until he could find no voice nor tears to weep any longer.

The days passed on after the incident and in silent watch the Lady of Imladris kept silent vigil over her companion as he walked this way and that, seldom returning the glances of passers by. During his time there he kept mostly to himself, speaking only with the travelers, or with the lady herself, mostly drawing attention away from what was apparently causing this strange behavior. At all times he would look at the blue gem around his neck, its broken and shimmering form, and he would gently touch the ages old scar upon his face, a wound of the memory one would call it. And at the times of night he would remain silent in his quarters and finger gently a small swan-like object, as he looked out east toward the very faces of the Misty Mountains. He heard no longer the songs outside his window, and instead went now and then to the smithies, and spoke often with the makers of jewels and weaponry.

And when the moon had come full waxed and a farewell feast was laid for the travelers he at last appeared again in public, no longer garbed as he had been, rather he seemed to be happier, more at ease with the moods of the evening. Sitting between the Lady Celebrian and the Lord Glorfindel, he seemed, at first, ill at ease upon being in a place of honor, yet through the night he spoke with the golden-haired elf at his side, and much of that was forgotten. Music began to play, flutes lighted the air, and drums rolled out beats worthy of dancing feet. And Celebrin felt a gentle, warm hand fall upon his shoulder, he turned and expected to see silver hair and a smiling face, yet before his eyes stood and tall and slender figure, wearing a evening sky hued garment, and whose raven like hair shimmered as the stars and the silver circlet she wore around her head acted as the moon of the night. Finding no words he simply bowed his head to the lady before him, a lady that he had last seen as a child who could barely walk and only briefly hence. The lady's soft and melodious voice pierced his ears as she held out her hand invitingly to him,

"My mother tells me you taught her how to dance…If you would will it, I would be glad to be your pupil as she was."

"Lady Arwen…I have seen you dance, you need no teaching from me…"

"Even so, dance while you are still here to, while the night is still filled with merriment."

And Celebrin took the elven-maiden's arm as they moved to the center of the grand hall- Celebrian smiled to see the sight, her husband however allowed a slight and fatherly frown to enter upon his face; his daughter danced with few in her lifetime at such gatherings all of them related in some manner. He began to stand but a firm and soft push kept him in his chair as his wife only shook her head and motioned him to be patient and forget the worries of a father for his only daughter.

The music began to play a soft and harmonious tune and the two raven-haired elves circled the floor, keeping their eyes upon the other's, one was laden with age, heavy with wisdom and long suffering sorrow- the other filled with the life of youth, yet in them one could discern the subtle tellings of ancient years culminating to one brilliant and ever shining light, as the very formation of stars. The moonlight reflected the ever-shimmering stars in their tresses as they spun and weaved as the very waters of the river below them.

And so they passed through that night and so too did the night come to a close and the feast of farewell was over.

The dawning of the new day brought with it the falling of Earendil, and the gearing of horses for the journey south, it was indeed a long and trying road, yet safest, for the men of Gondor and Eriador walked those paths often and all that was evil and dark in the world dwelt in the frozen north. In the air Celebrin smelled something ancient calling to him, a scent of ancient wood burning in a fireplace, or incense filling the air with its thick and heavy plumes of fragrant smoke. The falling of the river seemed to slow in time and he felt an incredible weight upon his chest, a weight that said farewell to all he saw, as if he would never again see the sight he now took in. He looked out his window as the breeze settled gently upon his face and the cool dewy morning kissed his tear-soaked visage; and a voice from within him spoke in a small and heavy whisper,

" I amar prestar aen, han noston ned 'wilith…"

The world is changed, I can smell it in the air…

"Anirach, gwador nin, gwannad mar lin?"

Do you wish, my brother, to leave your home?

Celebrin turned to face the voice behind him, and his eyes took in the sight of a white gown trimmed in shimmering silver and gray; the hands were held together showing the silent symbol of sadness and anxiety. And the flawless ivory face looked directly into his eyes and her long silver hair blew in the breeze that had previously graced his own face. He let loose a sigh that lay within his breast, and replied,

"Mas bar nin, gwathelen? U-ethelithon…Baden pelia athan nin…haer o nir a naeth."

Where is my home, my sister? I will not be coming back…my path is spread beyond me…away from grief and despair."

"O man pedich?"

What do you speak of?

Celebrin once again looked beyond the window to the mountains in the east, so much had happened in this land he had helped to raise, the kingdoms he had helped found were now so different from what he remembered. They had grown without him, all had…

"I am a relic here, in this new age, I saw that well enough last night..."

"You seemed to enjoy yourself…"

"A smile can tell many things gwathel, it can tell when one finds joy, or even madness…I was happy last night…but I could still see with my own eyes how inhospitable this world has become to me…here in this new age, I find that all I have worked for, all I have cherished has been brought to ruin, it is folly for me to remain and see everything I hold dear suffer the same fate as Alphindil."

"Have not I remained? Are not the kingdoms you helped create still standing? Nothing in this world has changed Celebrin, you only choose to see what is no longer there, instead of what could be there- you worship the past, rather than seek the future."

"It is no choice of mine to worship the past, I am of the past, a being born for a different time, and different place…my home lies in the ocean, where swim now the whales over the throne of Thingol."

"Doriath is gone, and you would waste away into nothing before you see that!"

"Do not demean my thoughts Celebrian! I know that the world I loved is gone now, that the home I cherished is now beyond my grasp…but here, in Imladris, or in Mithlond, Lorien or Balar I am only the personification of an ideal. A hero thought of only in song, remembered only by the deeds he did in the past…and when the youth of our people look upon me, they see one thing, a memory, an ideal. That is my future here Celebrian, the elder days are gone, and I should have taken my leave then…before any of this ever happened. I only hope my return, if it come, bears better fortunes for all. "

Before the silver haired lady spoke he embraced her and took her deeply into his arms, and it was then she knew how perilous sorrow had become to her people- hearing his heart slowly beating she felt the rushing of the tears forming in his eyes, the connection to the earth-womb- that is what her mother used to call it when she was a child in Eregion. Like the elder days her memory had passed beyond the sea, and did not live with her at all times, yet this one who was entwined in her arms lived in those days, and was torn from it at so young an age he never learned how to live in the present. He held on to the past as he held on to her now, tightly, for the past was certain- and it was then that she found compassion for him who she always saw as strong as her own father, in his weakness of will and heart she found his strength, strength over the tide of change that swept all her father loved and sent it rolling into the sea. And moments later as they waved their farewell she cried tears of bittersweet joy, and prayed to the morning sky that they would meet again; yet the winds of farewell were strong and a shadow and a doubt crept into her heart as he left her far-sight, _see thy last and final gaze upon the past, for it is gone forever_. Celebrin last words were not to her, but to a stranger with golden sun-lit hair and a stern Noldorin visage; they held arms in friendship- a sight she seldom saw him in, much less with a Noldor- and Celebrin spoke his last words,

"Hir Glorfindel, it is good that you choose to remain here in the fastness of Imladris, it is a place where one can learn of the past…and live in the present."

"Indeed Friend Celebrin, I find it similar to Vanyimar, a gentle mingling of two eras of life…It is a pity you will not join me at my side to experience this new world and teach me of its workings since I have been…away."

"Would that I show you all of Ennor, now that it is changed…but here you will find guides more to your liking. And a home."

"What do you…?"

"Overlooking the river called Bruinen, there is a home, a rather large home built

at the founding of this place…It was once mine, carved by my own hands and furnished by skill learned long ago, it is the… the most steadfast remnant of the Elder days here in Imladris, and it is yours now…I will have no need of it anymore."

And the golden-haired elf stood agape at the gift he was given as Celebrin handed him his key- signifying to the on-looking Celebrian that his words of farewell seemed ever more present in her mind. And his image disappeared from the sight of her eyes, and the day lengthened.

And sitting quietly in her chambers as she prepared for the noon hour meal a servant came knocking upon her door, and was guided in by her own raven haired daughter. The servant looked nervous yet with an encouraging word she procured a small ornate wooden box saying,

" I have word and gift from Master Uial my lady."

"Please give it to me kind Uriel…Arwen if you would please leave us."

"Actually my lady, the Lord Uial wished for both ladies of the house of Elrond to be present."

Arwen seemed as nervous as the servant beside her as she moved to stand beside her mother, neither knowing what to expect. The Lady of Imladris stood erect her silver hairs gliding down in soft trellises to the brink of her belt, and though she seemed as flawless as a statue, within her she trembled…she knew Celebrin to speak more of matters that were unsavory in written word rather than in the open, a tactic he learned from her father. The servant spoke again as silence enveloped the room and took from the wooden box a small letter which read,

" My dearest sister, know you now the manner of my leaving, and how I mean to not return. Know this that in all that I find sorrowful in this world, you and your family have never before been a part of that. This world, which I have come to find needs me no longer, was made for you by the hands of elves long beyond this world, I am included among them…I made this world for you to live in, and, sorrowfully, did not fashion it for myself. I should have died countless times, in countless battles and did not- for what? Celebrian, my life must find meaning again, away from legend and song. The Sickle of Doriath cannot be both subject of song and living memory, for some things must stay legend and others living present…I am neither and both. To your daughter and yourself I have left items I hold precious and dear, for only you could wear them and give them the honor I could not. I go now beyond all roads in Ennor, to a place where none know my name or my legend, and I mean never to return, beyond all hope and love once more. Think of me in the songs, and remember me little in what I had become, for I would have you remember me when I smiled rather than when I cried. Farewell my dearest, I have loved you more than all the flowers of this world, Navear."

After reading the note Celebrian sat upon her bed and stared into nothingness; her daughter took the box from the servant and sent the maiden away, and then kneeling beside her mothers legs she gazed into the soft blue eyes and tried to discern any emotion but only received empty thought. Celebrian at last wept, and smiled upon her daughter's concerned face saying in a whisper,

"He will be happier, I hope, do not weep for what you have heard…it is not a message of forboding, but one of hope."

"Will he return Naneth?"

"I hope so…what is in the box?"

The raven haired maiden opened its ornate iron clasp and took in a gasp of surprise as before her shone out a jewel of silver and mithril in the gentle form of a star,in it was set a stone of adamant, shining brilliantly in the light of the morning, and what now looked like the wings of a butterfly seemed to make the pendant float above the surface- attached to the jewel was a small note on which was written,

"An Arwen, Hiril Imladris…El sila o mor, be Earendil revia ath I-gwilith, annol estel I-edhil."

For Arwen, Lady of Imladris…A star shines from the darkness, like Earendil flies across the air, giving hope to the elvenkind.

And beside the silver adamant star lay a blue stone, broken long years ago, and yet repaired with a noticeable mark down the middle that spread off into three branches. The deep blue gem shimmered in a nightshade of the winter nights when the stars and moon seem closest to the earth; when Celebrian saw the jewel before her she let loose a strenuous and melted breath, mixed with a bittersweet hope that held a fragrance of doubt, for within her mind she knew the portent of this gift that came twofold- whether it was meant for her to return or for her keeping she knew not, only that time would tell the meaning of this gift. And so mother and daughter sat in the Lady's quarters, while the world seemed to pass them by, fingering the jewels and the meaning they carried, the history of one and the hope of the other- there at the cross-roads of time when all that was old was left to legend and history and all that was present was cherished. And as the Mountains of Mist passed him by Celebrin silently held in his hands the last cherished artifact of his life, the swan brooch of Alphindil, made of a black stone and trimmed in mithril, set in an image of flight. And he looked to the east, his last great journey- and as he looked upon Calenardhon he set his wings ready for flight, flight away from what kept him ground, and he-for the first time in his life- knew purest fear.

* * *

_The Evenstar pendant- if you read the last few chapters of House of Uial, you know that Alphindil made a swan-like pendant for Arwen, which in this story broke, then was remade-obviously-This pendant is my nod to the movies of LOTR, the new description I hope is close to the Evenstar pendant. I hope_

_Give me feedback thanks again_


	4. Lorien

_I realize this is a somewhat short chapter, but I cannot seem to add anymore, more would make it a weighty chapter and dwelling to much on the beginning, there is a need to get the story moving, Enjoy..._

* * *

The tall trees of Lorien had grown in the years he had been away, and now the Golden crowned mallorn were most present in nearly half the forest; the pathways were empty of the comings and goings that used to populate them, though above one could hear the sound of elvish voices rising in song. The company passed unhindered through the ways of the golden wood, unhindered though always watched; it was when they at last came to the very walls of Caras Galadhon that they were at last stopped. Three young guards descended from gray ropes, each bearing a remarkable resemblance to one another; the eldest it seemed spoke first,

"Who are you that travel through this, our land, and seek entrance to the City of the Galadhrim?"

"Is that what you call yourselves now, good kinsman? When last I was here, Nandor was the name your people preferred."

The elven guard looked imploringly at Celebrin, whose gray hood covered much of his visage, and spoke,

"I knew you to be of the elvenkind, tell me traveler, from what home do you come?"

It was at this time that Celebrin released his cowl and looked into the eyes of the guard, who at this time became flustered by the vision before him, for he was but a child when the elf before him had left the borders of the land, seemingly never again to return.

"I have come for council with the King Amroth, as well as the Lord and Lady, our business is our own…tell them an old friend has come."

And with that they passed through the gate of Caras Galadhon, and into the great city of trees where the Talans reached far into the canopy of the trees and built great halls upon the mallorn's thick and weighty branches. As they were being escorted up the steps of the mightiest of the trees Celebrin caught a glimpse of the hill that still remained covered with elanor and niphredel, where happy memories, as well as sorrowful were played out in the great stage of the world. There upon the mightiest of trees stood the hall of the King Amroth, and the travelers were amazed to see such a thing, for it glimmered as the light of the moon and its size was grand and its length and depth unimaginable in the minds of many. Celebrin last saw this hall as it was being built yet now that it was finished, it exceeded his memories and his expectations. For it was the size of a grand hall, a great hearth blazed and warmed the fall airs that entered through the open spaces, where branches kept their leisurely natural growth. And a grand table was set before them, laid with a feast unlike any had seen, even in the hall of Elrond; before them stood three elven lords- two rose to a grand height, unseen among the likes of the elves, one whose hair shined a golden light, in remembrance of the blessed realm across the sea, the other's hair was as the quality of the moon, silver and calm, yet ever more powerful in its patience and awe, a memorial of a land long forgotten beneath the sea. The third stood almost as tall as the others, though his posture was not less in power and majesty, he wore a silver and bronze crown upon his head, engraved with all the history of the Nandor, their three previous kings, Lenwe, Denethor, and Amdir, each were present upon a side of the crown, their crescents and regalia engraved for all posterity to remember. And upon the front of the crown stood his symbol, a tall golden tree beneath a flying silver swan- and he smiled upon seeing who had come to his hall and before any words were said he ran to the raven haired elf and embraced him as if thousands of years had passed since last they met. Yet as quickly as a breath the gentle king's face was worn with sympathy, and holding the forearms of his friend-brother in a sign of giving strength he said in a whisper,

"My sister sent word to us…of what happened, are you well?"

"As well as can be expected gwador, but now is not the time…"

"Of course, come sit there is much to be discussed."

Celebrin took his seat beside the king and the five travelers were greeted by the lords with gentle bows and kind words; in truth the Lord Celeborn seemed to view these beings with a certain skepticism, not seeming to trust them at first glance. Yet the Lady Galadriel spoke much with them of the land beyond the sea, in fact her enthusiasm was something to be astonished at, for long she remained quiet of her long desire to return home. The evening passed long into the late hours of the twilight and Celebrin become tired and excused himself from the presence of the lords; few seemed to notice his leaving save the king and the lord Celeborn, who shared a joined glance before the Lord Celeborn himself removed himself from the table and walked in the direction his former standard bearer took.

And there he found him balancing himself upon a silver bough of the great tree, looking out at the northern stars through a patch of open canopy; before the Silver-haired lord could speak a voice came from the figure before him,

"What fate lies now for me, my lord? What would you do, were you left behind and no purpose left for you?"

"Who even among the wise can say what they would do in such times? For these hours are changing, and the old world is passing away."

"Yet you can still answer such a question…If my lady were to leave beyond the coast of Ennor, would you go with her? Or remain?"

"These thoughts are not your own Elornion…"

"What thoughts my lord? I am only asking a simple question."

"A question none can answer, save by they who are thinking of leaving the life they know behind, whether by the western road, or by the path of sorrow…both of which seem perilous to me…and did once also to you."

"Well things have changed."

"Have you spoken with your…"

"The Lord Cirdan and I have not spoken in months, for reasons I wish not to relate…"

"These travelers are strange, they come here in the image of old men, yet their eyes bespeak them of an elder race, far older than our own."

"Yes they are so."

The Silver Lord looked upon the elf before him and wondered at how distant he looked, arms locked in a tight embrace over his own heart, as if guarding it from flying before his body could follow. He looked through the hole in the canopy and saw the seventh star of the Sickle of the Valar shining brightly, and suddenly a voice as if from the very depths of the ocean came from the elf beside him, singing a song both full of dread and in the tune of a funeral dirge.

"Many stars have fallen

Many stars will fall

Who is to say,

What fate lies ahead?

For the hammer strike

And the arrow's sting

Shall break the bonds of helm and mail

And friends long made will depart

And I remain lone in Ennor

Till silver ships take all souls

Beyond the sight of my eyes"

And before the ancient elf could say anything in reply the other turned and descended the tree as softly as the spring flows from the mountains side in the frozen winter.

* * *

And Lorien was beset by the chill of winter's coming, for it was in this year that it came early, and fall was naught but a slender memory in the blink of an eye; days passed unto weeks and these unto months until the gentle coming of spring that broke forth from the frozen earth. Yet all was not quiet in Lorien fair; for in the dead of the winter nights a scream could be heard throughout Caras Galadhon and in the quarters of the guests of the King a violent dream was being played. And the King himself would come from his lofty bed upon the limbs of the trees, and hold the dreamer in a tight and unrelenting embrace, until the terror had passed and all threat of self-murder was over. And he would remain at the bedside of his brother-friend, until the morning light would break a long and disturbed sleep. Yet he was not alone in these bedside vigils, for near him would sit a bent and elderly figure dressed in sea-green, and beside him another dressed in gray; from their mouths would come words that filled the room as incense made heavy the air with its soothing smoke. It was at this time, at the coming of spring, that three horses were made ready to journey toward the rising of the sun; one stood tall above the rest, his long snow-white hair rippling down his slender neck, he was old now, long years had passed since the hour of his birth, before the war that would change the world, yet like his kindred from across the sea his life was many times greater than the lifetimes of men- a horse bred for the elder kind, long lived, wild and powerful, yet soft and gentle and they are strong and hale. Celebrin stood beside his gentle steed stroking the gentle hairs that graced his pale moonlight skin; as he did so he sung a song he sang to all the four legged beasts he ever knew and raised- a song of gentility and a time long passed, where gentle fields rose in sloping hills and many a horse was free to ride the waves of the land. A gentle rustling came form behind and Celebrin turned to see a simply clad elven king before him; the two exchanged a glance of silent speech before the latter spoke,

"Why do you go, when all who love you reside here? Have we become to painful a place for you?"

"Do not think that way brother, I could never loathe the family that took me in when I made myself an outcast to the people of the sea…nor could I ever hate the hands that I served, so faithfully all these years…"

"Then why go?"

"Because I must…you are too young to know anything of what I speak, but when you love someone, as you love yourself. It pains you when that part leaves, so much so that two roads remain after, death…and fading. Both of which I will have none…therefore I must make a life to live after, and it cannot be here, where everything is a reminder of a former time."

"Just promise me you will return…please brother promise me this…"

"I promise, when I find myself at long last, I will return, before the passing of this age I will return…"

"You call that a promise?"

"No…that is why I give you this…"

And from his cloak Celebrin gave Amroth a box of intricately carved cedar wood lined with velvet of red, and within lay a brooch of silver and black alien stone in the form of a swan in flight. And he spoke again as the call to farewells was over,

"This is my last and final gift to you, for there is nothing in this world that I would keep for all is perilous to me. Like the slate of a scribe I am wiped clean by tears, and nothing retains the joy it once did, not even a gift as this. That is why I give it to you, a remainder of me when my name meant something other than sorrow…it is yours to give to whom you will or keep it forever more."

And so Celebrin at long last left the land of Lorien departing south at the western edge of the Anduin with the final words of the Gilded-crowned queen,

"Seek not the Gods of the East, for they are perilous, the sage at their feet holds fast your salvation."

And so three travelers, one in elvish gray, the others in the blue of the sea, passed south to the land of Gondor and in the dead of night crossed the great river at Osgiliath, and passed into the very borders of Mordor, where in silent watch the guards of the Numenoreans watched all within, yet their course lay not within the black land, but north of it until they came to the very borders of the Dagorlad, and from there their course turned east toward the sea of Run, and beyond where all maps ended.


	5. Beyond Rhun

_At long last I have updated, sorry this took so long to do, I just couldn't find the right way to write this...call it writer's block or something, hopefully it does not sound forced. _

* * *

Upon the shores of Rhun they stood, looking out at a vast and empty land, the stars shone brightly in the east, and before them rose Earendil as he past into the west; the lands before them rolled on for what seemed an endless pace, they stood upon the brink of where all maps ended, where neither man nor elf nor dwarf would dare go again, having made the far journey from the land of their origin. For it was in this land that the Dark Lord's influence was strongest, far to the south lay the lands of Harad, and to the East the lands of the Easterlings and the Khand. Yet beyond none can say for once making the journey both man and elf ceased their trekking; there they stood two tall elderly figures dressed in sea-blue robes flowing in the wind of the early evening, and one immortal figure wrapped in elvish gray, and hanging by his side a sword in a scabbard of scarlet and gray silver, the handiwork of the Teleri by the sea. One of them, clothed in darker hues of the sea floor, spoke at long last, his voice deep and his gaze far into the land of the rising sun.

"Well then…what now remains but the plunge…Master Uial, if you still wish it you may return to your lands, where things are safest…"

"Nay master Pallando, nothing lies for me in the west, only the unknown before me…"

And they began their dusk lit trek into the east, following the river that fed the sea of Rhun, yet their journey was halted at first by a loud and fearless voice, a voice that many would follow in days to come, for the speaker willed its power so. The three turned to see a rider coming upon them in great speed, with a black stave raised high, his garments were white, and the horse he road was of a brown elvish breed; Alatar smiled to see who it was, and called out his name without fear,

"Hail Curumo!"

Yet he was soon silenced by the other beside him with a slight nudge of the other's staff,

"Say not this name, we know not what spies remain in these lands, or what few can speak the tongue of the Noldor."

Celebrin watched as the two greeted their comrade, and the white traveler looked at him with eyes filled with knowledge and yet in his mind Celebrin imagined a melodious song that soon became dissonant. Shaking from his mind this song, he greeted the new addition to their company, the great voice of this new traveler called Curumo spoke out as they began again,

"Long will be the journey into the net of the Dark One's following, if only we had Olorin to light our paths, well you two will have to do with me…"

And the others laughed at his jest, and it was in laughter, albeit nervous laughter that they began their long march through the empty wilderness, following the river until they came beyond the small, leafless wood and there found the meager spring that would come to feed the small inland sea.

The sun beat down on them as they gazed east, all night they had traveled in secret and in stealth, yet they awoke before the noon hour and prepared the rations they would soon have to take if they were to travel to places unknown. The four stood upon the edge of the meager forest looking into the vastness of the region that seemed never to end; Celebrin was at first amazed to see it in the waking hours of the sun, for he had heard only tales and lays of the great journey from the east by his parents and their kin, yet now before him lay the vastness of the Empty Lands empty of any of his people save they who remained in Cuivienen. Curumo pointed out the layings of the land, he held in his hand a rough sketching of a map, as if it had been drawn in haste, Celebrin peeked over his shoulder and was soon noticed, the white clad traveler said in a friendly voice as if he were speaking to a child,

"It is a map copied from one in the halls of the western land…the only known record of the Great Journey…made by the Vanyar themselves."

Not particularly welcome to being treated as a child at his age he found his bearings, and, turning to continue packing, nonchalantly said,

"It is not the only record, wise one, you forget the Teleri have long been known for their cartography, or at least in Ennor they are…in Cirdan's hall of memories there lies a map of the eastern lands, drawn by his own hand."

"He mentioned nothing of this…"

"Nor would he, it is dear to him as his own ships are, surely you know that something of this making cannot readily be copied, and once made is considered dearest to its maker. It is the only thing, sadly, he is not willing to send away as a gift or… as a whim."

"You demean your lord too much Master Uial, there are things I'll wager he does consider more dear to him than anything…"

The consoling voice of Alatar came from behind him, yet the mind of Celebrin was still heavy with loathing for the lord that remained in the west, the lord who raised him from birth and betrayed his trust as if it were nothing,

"You would be surprised Master Alatar, at what indeed the Lord Cirdan has sent willingly from his lands."

And so silenced followed and no mention of the Lord of Mithlond occurred for a long time thereafter.

* * *

Throughout the coming days they would journey into the East, and the land turned from dry grasslands, where the grazing was easiest to land where rocky earth gave way to sand. The mountains could no longer be seen in the distant west, and the sea of Rhun became a speck of moisture in their eyes; The ground turned from rocky to soft and burning grains of sand, here and there a small patch of grass could be seen and the sings ofrain were present, though it had been weeks since it came. They turned their journey south, for they sought not only the lands of the Easterlings but also the lands of the Harad where the Dark One drew the bulk of his mortal force.

"It is upon the borders of these lands that we may be able to sew the seed of dissension among the lines of Mordor, rumor from the very wind speaks of upheaval in the south."

The one called Alatar spoke these words as a brave gust of wind began to blow harder from the south, a warm wind it was that seemed to burn their very eyes as the sun had begun to do. The trees became small and wiry, gnarled as cypress yet barren of leaves or fruit; no sign of life could be seen for it seemed it was a vast wasteland that was once fruitful in the ancient past.For days on end they journeyed and fear of finding water began to grow in their minds, for while the bodies of the elves and whatever beings these others were never tired, the valiant steeds they rode began to show the signs of weariness. When at long last their skins ran low the two elderly men dressed in sea-blue robes, mimicking the hues of the sea, raised their eyes to the very stars and with shut eyelids felt their way around the world of water. And as they did so their cloaks of sea-blue began to flow like the waters of the Anduin and the shores of the sea, and in this unfelt wind their long silver-white hair flew like the tendrils of thunder from the sky. The others watched, one in amazement the other as patient as a farmer oversees the seeds of his crop grow from season to season. Twin voices filled the air speaking in the languages from across the sea, only one could Celebrin decipher for it was the speech of the Noldor, it spoke something similar to this,

Waters of Ulmo dancing brightly

Osse's shores rushing madly

Uinen's froth guiding serenely

Oh stars be our aid!

Guide the waters of Ea flowing

In deep hearts rising

To the shores of this desert land

Ulmo's waters all in one

Music of the horn of shell

Sing greatly to us your servants twain

Guide us to the shores of water

In a waterless land.

And nothing but silence followed as the invisible wind ceded to the breezeless day, and to the others they returned and taking a blackened bark from the campfire they took the map from Curumo's hand and begun to mark it, one from left to right the other from right to left; blindly guiding their hands they marked at blank contours of the map. When at last they were done seven marks were present were there had been none in the borders of the empty lands, and silently whispering Pallando pointed to one of the seven,

"Here lies the closest…a well it seems, and nearby it feels life is teeming."

* * *

And so to that ambiguous marking they went, as the sun began to rise from the east and the moon fell in the west, and foreign stars could be seen in the sky save for one final and lasting image, the Sickle of the Valar hung in the far north, where the heavens and the earth met in their unending dance. The heat of the day dragged on, and before him Celebrin could see the distance become a broken image as if he saw it through eyes covered by the surface of water, and whether in his mind or not he saw before him,

A green country behind white shores and a calm sea lapping upon the ground of white sand. And in the nearer distance he saw a forest filled with cedars, oak, ash, and cypress and from the woods came a long and sonorous song, as if it were mourning, yet the words were not ones of sorrow, but of longing, a calling from beyond the sea; names he heard, of those he knew that now dwelt in Mithlond, where lay the broken pieces of his heart. And the woods were stripped away and where stood now in the place of the trunks were elves dressed in all the hues of the summer wood, and their hands were outstretched toward him yet they seemed to turn away from him and seek others behind him. And he saw an image dressed in white and silver, whose golden-brown hair crowned his head as the flowers upon the mallorn crown the woods of Lorien and blow in the wind of the spring rain. The figure stretched not his hands toward him nor did he speak any words of longing only this one word left his mouth,

"No…"

And he felt a rush of water beneath his face and a wave seemed to take him away from the white shores and green country…

And he felt cool water upon his face and hands beginning to touch his skin, the blur before his eyes cleared and he saw a face with skin dark as the newly tilled earth, as copper fresh from the smith, the faces features spoke of womanhood and her eyes were dark and piercing as the void between the light of the stars. Her hair fell down toward Celebrin's face in a cascade of black velvet that reminded him of a dark bean the Numenoreans once gave to Cirdan in the days of their glory, a bean from the southern lands where the weather was warm and rain was said to fall in long cascades of hours. She wore a face of worry upon her countenance and to him spoke in an unintelligible language, that to Celebrin sounded as the flowing of the river amid rocks intending to break its course. Her voice lilted upward as if she were asking a question of him yet he could answer her in return, instead he moved quickly from beneath her and turned her eyes of worry into panic. And from beside her she unsheathed his own sword and held it strongly in her hand, as if she had held a sword before, yet she seemed surprised to hold something lighter than mortal steel. She cried out in fearing tones, yet strength remained in her alien tongue, as she held Celebrin back by the tip of his own blade; yet a voice came from behind him a familiar and deep voice retaining power and majesty, and he turned to see the white one called Curumo facing his palms forward in a sign of peace. She seemed to follow his command, even if she knew not the tongue he used, and she placed the sword upon the ground and knelt upon the sand keeping her intensely dark eyes upon both before her. Now that he could see her better she wore a scarlet robe of a coarse fabric and around her neck she wore a large veil of deep blue, her feet were bare and scared from long years of walking amid the desert sand. For one whose face was beaten by the forces of the land and by a long life of pain she was fair to look upon, she bore with her a sense of strength in her gait and in her form. Her wild black hair blew fiercely in the wind as her gaze never left that of Celebrin, his own sea-gray eyes looking at every feature of her face, reading as it were the life she lived by the details of her rustic and wild beauty. Indeed she seemed like a wild mare upon the plains of Ennor who was tamed by none, as one of the mearas she was wild, regal, and awe-inspiring in her subtleties. Curumo at long last spoke,

"We thought we had lost you, Alatar and Pallando remained by your side until I could find help…Then she appeared as if out of nowhere…It was a dangerous thing you did, taking no water for yourself…Yes! I noticed when your sack was the last to be emptied…"

"Who is she?"

"One from these lands it would seem, none of us can understand her for the most part…in the time you were healing we developed a rather simple Lammcam to communicate."

Making a movement with his hand he bid her to stand, she stood before them and though smaller than the women of the west she stood tall and with a certain dignity. With another movement Curumo spoke in the slowed common tongue to her,

"This…is…Uial…"

In reciprocation she motioned toward herself and spoke in her soft and strong flowing tongue, much like the dunes of the sand surrounding them. When she made a movement toward her heart she said the word.

"Cidhrali…"

And she pointed to the faint and rising stars and back to herself, Curumo's face shaped into mystery yet Celebrin smiled a little saying only,

"Her name…it means stars…"

And using the same motion he pointed to the east and the west, where now the sun was beginning to fade and the moon beginning to rise, in the hour when the golden light of the sun and the silver light of the moon mingled and the world knew then the light of the two trees. He pointed to twilight hour when the stars were unveiled and their beauty could be seen from a distance undominated by the great fire of the sun, he pointed to the same sky she pointed to and then to himself saying,

"I am twilight…Uial"

And she smiled at this, a smile that seemed filled with joy and a subdued laughter, she understood this odd twist of fate and her fear was quieted for in that world of unknown a connection seemed to form, something alien to the darkness and harshness of the world they were in. She was not of this harsh terrain, but of the gentle night, and in their conversations she told them she came from the mountains far to the east, and taught them bits of her tongue, as much as could be understood. And into the night they spoke, and she took in the tongue of the gentle elf, never knowing that he was of the elder race her grandmother spoke often of, that lived in the woods to the north, whose firey gaze pierced the darkness of the night and whose sorrowful and moaning songs led babes to their gentle rest, to dream of far off lands and to play amid the stars.

_

* * *

Cidhrali- A slightly linguistically modified version of the Aztec name Citlali, which does mean stars...having very little information of the language of the Harad or the Khand, I pressumed they were of the race that would come to cross the land bridge of Beringia...Aztec seemed like a nice homage to my ancestors (sorry for being a bit selfish but hey..)_

_Curumo- Quenya name of Saruman, forgot he journeyed with the Ithryn Luin to the East. He does seem kinder in this story, but of course it is before he turned.._

_Edited sorry about the mix-up_


	6. The Shadow of a dream

_Here is another installment! Hope you all are enjoying them, this is a bit long and is not divided by events so I'm sorry about that. _

_Elfique- sorry about not answering your question posted earlier, yes the brooch Celerbin gave Amroth was that of Alphindil, sorry if it confused you._

_Edited (1-21-05) Completely sorry about not warning about this earlier, in this chapter therein lies language that may not be sutible for children, its really only one word and there is no more of it later. The dialouge just didn't feel right without it or with a euphamism, mostly because it was insult in ancient times as it still is today. _

* * *

In the light of the new morning Celebrin stood facing the west, where the moon began to set and the stars faded from view, it was at these moments of twilight, one at day and the other at night that he often remembered his times as a child. He grew up too fast, that is what Cirdan always said, never playing with the other children, and when Alphindil came they never "played". A voice came from behind him a light and soothing voice he easily identified with Alatar, the elderly man's voice was always more to his liking than that of the others, Curumo's voice was too demanding and Pallando's reminded him too often of the sea, 

"This young girl was indeed a blessing in disguise, I did not think we would ever find hospitality here, amid all this barren wasteland…she will lead us to the nearest village I hear?"

"Yes, there she says we may find food and water…it is an interesting tongue her language, smooth as the very sand dunes we walk upon, yet rough as the mountian's edge, I must admit it is quite difficult to understand and master."

"It would appear that her speech is uncommon in this land? She seemed timid to teach it to you last night…"

"It would seem that her and her people are forbidden from speaking so, there was a certain fear in her gaze when I asked her what the word 'stone' was in her tongue."

"How knowledgeable are you in speaking Harad, or even Khand…"

"Very little it would seem, I only learned such phrases that dealt with war, though from the outlook of this terrain that may be all I will need."

The vastness of the desert land stretched out before them; in the early morning hours the sand was not white hot with the blaze of the sun but cool and silver like as the gray shores of Harlindon that kissed the lapping waters of the sea where pearls were found in great abundance. Yet no sea of water lay before them but a sea of sand that, as the day became brighter, would betray its cool morning temperature and reveal a heat more painful than the hearths of the baker's home or the forges of the Noldor. And the day drew on so, with out sight of rain or shading cloud in sight, and the five travelers upon their steeds traversed the terrain, looking only at the broken image of the horizon before them. In the lead sat Celebrin with the woman called Cidhrali sitting before him upon the seat of the horse, oddly enough she seemed most comfortable upon a horse, even riding without a saddle. While the day was hot, there also came a heated wind that seemed to carry a message of ill-welcome in its wake, Alatar raised his ancient eyes to the sky where no cloud flew and said in a whisper,

"A storm comes, a weather not of this world."

Pallando who traveled beside him looked where his friend gazed and paused for a moment, and to his far-reaching eye came an image that turned his face pale for in the distance he saw a figure, black against the sapphire of the afternoon sky, flying as a great eagle, yet without feathers or noble crest upon its head. Before he spoke in warning the broken horizon straightened from its ever-moving glare and before them appeared a village of sorts made of earthen clay, one would not have been able to descry a village among the sand dunes for they were similar in hue, but for the violent red flags that blew at its high walled gates, the elvish eyes of Celebrin saw upon these billowing banners was the effigy of a black serpent pared to attack.

"We will not find willing help here, this entire land bears the stench of the Dark Lord…"

Curumo's words filled all with dread, save the young woman who knew not what he said, taking Celebrin's attention she motioned to the satchels where water was kept and pointed to the village, her face wore worry but in her eyes he could descry a knowledge of what they would find within the walls. Motioning to her in the hand-language they had developed, and speaking base words of her own tongue he said,

"Water… in village? Black snake…live there too? Who are they?"

She nodded her head in affirmation, and in fear she said one word that brought worry to the elf's face,

"Death"

He first turned to the other travelers and spoke in words the woman could not understand saying in a whispered voice,

"She seems frightened if we enter that place, is there no other place we may take water…"

Curumo replied,

"The map is unreliable in terms of distances, we do not know if we will be wandering for days or weeks, seeing this land now, I doubt we will find any hope of an unguarded well or spring."

Celebrin assented to this and dismounting he began to take the woman from the horse she seemed confused at first then realizing she was to be left behind she clung fast to the mane of the white steed objecting to what Celebrin was doing, he tried to reason with her saying as well as he could,

"You…safe here, no need go village. Time you go-back home…"

Loosing her grip upon the mane she fell into his arms and grabbed at his tunic, it was at this time he saw fear in her strong eyes, trying to maneuver herself around his tongue she said,

"Me… no safe, you no safe go town, no leave you me!"

His eyes furrowed at her fear, turning to his fellow travelers he said with a grave voice and concerned look to his visage,

" We cannot leave her here, out in this wilderness, it seems perilous to do so."

Curumo replied with urgency and stern disrepute, his commanding voice resounding in the elf's ears forcing him to heed the white one's commands,

"Danger is no place for such a young child, if we go to a hostile place I will not have her blood on my hands, nor will my comrades willingly allow her to accompany us."

Yet the mind of the eldar is not easily swayed by such power, and Celebrin sternly matched wits as the young woman clung to him trying to tell him she wished to remain,

"There is fear in her eyes Curumo, will you willingly throw her out where she feels she has no chance for survival…She fears the wilderness and these people, she feels safer here among us…who knows what kind of men dwell beyond the city, she calls them death, but in truth I tell you she is the only one who may allow us to get a foothold in this country; where none of us know the tongue save she and she alone."

Before Curumo spoke the one called Alatar interjected bringing his steed beside Thingalad, he said sternly,

"We waste time now discussing the usage of a poor girl as if she were an object we could throw away when all is done! She has shown us to this place, regardless of knowing who we were, she trusted us, and now she asks us with fear in her voice to take her where she knows evil resides. The least we could do is take her back to her people when we are done here, for showing us this kindness…"

Silence followed and no one said anything until Pallando stirred his steed to be level with the others, Curumo seeing he was at last defeated in this debate sighed and said,

"Very well, she is your responsibility Uial…do not forget that."

And so the march into the city began, silently and with the hiding of faces with heavy cowls, the woman hid her dark visage with a long shawl she wore around her neck to the point that nothing showed but her dark earthen eyes, wherein shone the very stars of the midnight. As they entered the gates silent became the road they rode upon, for it seemed they walked into a bustling market place where hung from close shops a variety of things spaning from coarse jewelry made of stones and dark red jewels, to trapped game hanging from their bound feet. None of the villagers made any eye contact with the foreigners and cast there gaze down toward the ground and hid their contempt for travelers not of their kind. All behaved so save the servants who seemed to recognize the garb of the woman who rode upon a white steed with a strangely dressed figure whose garb none could place for the colors and fabrics were foreign to their eyes and methods. Silent the travelers walked through the main street toward the place where a well lay at the center of the village. Yet unknown to the travelers eyes two stern guards kept their vigil upon them, for it was only these two who returned from the west where men upon horses of white battled their on forces, only these two whose names were lost to legend and myth kept their gaze fixed upon the travelers who bore the garb of the folk whose bright eyes lit the night as they fought alongside the bearded ones. From behind them an invisible voice came that was icy as the northern frost and twinged with an alien and metallic tone,

"_Who are these visitors come to your lands? Conquerors of the west come to steal your rightful lands, given by the Eye to your ancestors…show them who rules these lands, be loyal to your lord and master…"_

In their harsh tongue they replied to a name that caused fear and dread amid the west, for second among the Deceiver's many forces he was known as the Shadow of the East, Vassal of the Dark Lord Sauron in the lands of the Harad, Khamul he was known in the west and dread followed him for he brought forth with him the cruel Eastern forces that succored the armies of Mordor.

The travelers filled their skins with the well water silently, bringing no attention to themselves, though all servants gathering water looked upon the woman standing alongside these old men. One, finally gathering his courage, spoke in her native tongue, making the sindar's ears prick up and his eyes watch what happened,

"Who are these, sister, …who you travel with?"

"I don't know friend, I found them in the wild…they speak a tongue I don't know…though it sounds like…"

Her conversation was halted by a tall dark, cruel looking man, whose eye related harshness and anger, for he had no second eye, nothing occupied its space but a long scar that ran down the line of his chin; he wore a blood red head scarf and a dark hued robe close to black though its faded color showed a charcoal color emptied of vibrancy or color. In a harsh manner he shoved aside the servant with his hand and violently grabbed the woman called Cidhrali by the forearm, speaking in his harsh and sharp tongue he said,

"What are you doing here filthy bitch, you should stay in the mountains with the rest of your goat herders…"

Violently Celebrin rose from where he knelt, and keeping his hand upon the hilt of his sword he cried out sternly to the man in what words of Harad he knew,

"Release her coarse man, unless you want to feel my blade!"

Laughing the man threw her to the ground and kicked dirt on her, from behind him emerged another man more menacing and bearing a gash at the corner of his mouth that ran until it reached his ear. In a cruel and mocking tone he said,

"Leave us to our merry-making then you can have her for your own fun…"

Their harsh laugh was reverberated through the gathered crowd, for all the servants disappeared and in their place stood several like-dressed men, cruel in demeanor, haggard in garb, some young, some old, some brandishing swords curved and made of iron that gleamed rusted brown from the staining of blood. Surrounding the five travelers they stood, swarthy dirt-covered men who smelled of blood and grime of the dark places in the cities of men, where ill-deeds were done, men who lived among the filth they created and covered themselves in the blood of sacrifices to the shadow long exiled from the land of Ea. The others stood, leaning upon their staves, having strapped their water skins tightly to their horses; the noble steeds could feel the tension rising around them and began to rear, as they had been trained to do in times when it seemed that battle was to be fought.

The mighty cry of Thingalad, a meara raised from the loins of two of the purest blood line of his kind caused some of the untrained men to wince in fear for his cry sounded as a great burst of wind that would bring storms, a high and dooming tone that brought the storms filled with sand to the land of the Harad. Yet the two heads of this brigand band laughed to see the horse prepare for battle, for to them they far outnumbered the company before them, yet the eyes of Celebrin began to gleam with elvish fire, and their minds were drawn back to the last time they saw eyes as fierce, in their long journey west, to battle the forces of men for the dark god they worshiped in fear. For elves long keeping their sacred borders kept them from escaping the steel-clad soldiers that ran them into the very woods of Lorien and Greenwood. Their smiles turned grim and they drew their cruel-bladed swords; yet in return Celebrin drew his own and it shone forth with ancient light, not blue as the swords of the Noldor in time when orcs come close, but it shone in the light of the desert sun as coldly as the lightning from the sky, its elegant curve mirroring the bend of a river-bed and its scarlet handle gleaming against the palm of his hand. Behind him Alatar and Pallando raised their staves, and around them it seemed a fierce wind blew, their garments blew in the wind as the waves of the sea and the rapids of a mighty river; yet Curumo did not raise his staff in preparation for battle, he stood grim faced and walked calmly to the forefront of the would be clash, speaking in an echoing voice, he said in the language of the west,

"Be still your blades, listen to me cruel-race sword wielders, put down your swords!"

And though they knew not the tongue he spoke they harkened to his command, their blades pointed to the earth and their eyes remained fixed upon him; using this distraction the woman called Cidhrali nervously stood and went to Celebrin's side, amazed at the power of the white man, who seemed heavy with age yet young as a hale lord of men. Curumo smile to see the sight, at how easy it was to command the hearts of men, he turned to his companions who looked around a the sight, yet as he was about to speak an icy voice came forth and a shadow seemed to cover the sky, the men knew fear then and they sleeked away to the shadows of the city and the company was left in the center of the village beneath a shadow that made the woman cringe at an unseen fear. A cruel laughter filled the darkening sky and a place that was once brimming with white-hot light from the sun became blackened as the oncoming of a storm, though no cloud remained in the sky to tell how the sun became so dimmed. A great wind began to blow fiercely around them and grains of sand like ash blowing in the wind flew this way and that as the cruel alien laughter came closer to them. Its tone was grinding, deep as the forges of the dwarves and filled with a cold and icy demeanor, like steel at the sharpening wheel where the grind of metal by metal tears at the very fabric of the ear.

Curumo himself looked in awe at what stood before them; a tall figure became shilouetted in flying sand, he seemed to wear a cloak of ashen gray that had once been black as the void of the night, held back by the net of ever-guarding stars. Upon his neck he bore an old golden necklace, made in times of antiquity during the fall of Numenor, the blessed realm of men. The necklace was pieces of golden plates that now shimmered pale in the light of its wearer, and the blood red gem encased beneath the edge of the cowl-covered face gleamed greedily for life-blood to succor its ageless thirst. There before them stood Khamul, the Shadow of the East, vested in his dark sable robes, his cruel and icy laugh pierced their hearts as he spoke in a harsh and hated tongue of the west,

"At long last the dotards of the West send their forces to challenge Sauron, Lord of the Earth…And what a force this is indeed!!!…Tell me Ancient Curumo, slave to the bended god of the soot beneath the mountains, what power have you here?! …Or you twain Slaves to the child who makes the storms at sea? It is joyous indeed to see that the Powers have sent their canaries to deal with the mighty Vulture Sauron, Lord of the Eastern Lands…"

A cold laugh left his mouth and the empty cowl shook with excitement as he turned his head and spoke cruel and biting words to each aged man, their faces were as adamant and unmoved by his sarcastic jests at their masters. The creature's voice became grim again until it seemed its invisible eyes set gaze upon the Sinda who stood, sword-drawn shielding the woman who covered her eyes from the sight of the demon before her. A cold and mocking laugh left the empty cowl as dark and unseen eyes saw the immortal being before it,

"And what is more, you have brought the Sickle of Doriath to be your guide and protector! You must be unimportant indeed to receive so fine a guide and bodyguard, who cannot even guard his companion of long years whom he said he loved as himself…"

Celebrin angered at this cried a curse at the void-filled robes, yet was stopped by the stave of Curumo which resulted in the laughter of the being before them, he continued his diatribe,

"There is no power left in the world that can destroy the Lord of the Earth, you think a brigand of servants and tree-dwellers can do any better? Leave this land and die in an honorable death, lest you shame yourselves with failure…"

And the robes became limp and fell heavily to the ground and the invisible being encased with in flew up with the cyclone of wind that began to blow stronger around the company. The steeds began to rear and wish for escape from that prison and the five quickly mounted, charging through the cyclone of dirt. Above them dark clouds covered the sky, yet the clouds bore no sign of rain and the wind began to hurl at them in violent alien ways, from the clouds emitted a dark and harrowing laugh and those with the eyes of elves could see hidden within the dark and sable clouds flew an orbs of fierce and fiery red flames surrounded with eight pale, colorless lights.

The five travelers raced out of the city gates and saw before them the vast expanse of the desert facing toward the far east, behind them as they turned stood a wall of dark cloud and blowing wind picking up the very ground beneath them and racing toward them as a tidal wave comes upon a ship at sea. With a cry from Curumo they flew away from the danger behind toward the east where the moon had barely begun to rise, yet no matter how fast their noble steeds ran they could feel the whisps of thunderous wind upon their ankles. They cried, "Faster, faster!" to their steeds and as a cat, who has cornered its prize feigns weakness, the wind pulled away. And they came upon a deep gorge, a scar upon the land, whose depths could not be fathomed for within one could only see emptiness. They turned their steeds to face the wall of cloud that stood at bay before them, teasing them with ferocity and cruel joy. The two aged men dressed in sea-blue drew up their noble staves and stood firm as if ready to charge the oncoming storm, missing was Curumo in his brilliant white robes, for he was swept up by the storm during the race, his comrades could not race back for him, but only hoped in their deep hearts that he would survive the storm. Firm and grim they stood while a race away stood an impenetrable wall of smoke, ash, sand, and storm, a cry as shrill as anything that resided upon the earth, a broken voice filled with loathing and hatred. And then as an armed forced it descended upon them rushing as the waters of a flooded river, yet a fierce clear blue gleam shined forth, as a star over a misted ocean, and was joined by a emerald blaze; both came forth from where Alatar and Pallando stood firm, crying words out toward the rushing wind in a tongue none knew upon all of Middle-Earth, and as the rushing of the storm came down upon them it was split by a sea-blue light coming forth from the staves of the twain men, and the storm flew over them and to their sides surrounding them in the over flow of rushing death. And the veil of the storm was parted and they saw before them a firey creature, who seemed to stand like a man, yet taller than man or elf, engulfed in flame and he wore armor of brilliant, violent lightning. He was Sauron, the deceiver, not dead from the stroke of Isildur's hand, unveiled from physical form, no longer able to feign his beauty as when he was the Annatar in the ages long passed; surrounding him flew eight pale-ghostly figures of men, each bearing a blood-red flame upon his finger though the bodies were twisted and no longer resembled human forms as they did long ago.

And Thingalad the mighty horse, born of the line of the Mearas, who before this hour knew no fear reared to defend himself against the image of flames before him, in doing so his riders were tossed from his unbridled seat. Yet Celebrin, son of Uial, stood and drew his sword at the shadow-flame, crying out to the parting winds,

"Come for me dealer of Death! Cursed bane of life upon the earth, come for me and show me you are no Coward!"

And before him approached a shadow though the din of the storm, he raised his sword to strike down the figure that would appear, and when it came forth from the dark, sable rushing wind his face was not grim but filled with awe and shock, for before him stood a figure dressed in rich blue robes embroidered with the silver figures of swans in flight, upon his belt-sash he wore a black, silver-lined pendant made in Gondolin many years ago. His golden brown locks of hair blew gently as if he stood in a breeze and a peaceful smile graced his face; his lips parted and a voice long-awaited and long-missed entered the Sinda's ears,

"Good morning, mellon nin…I hope you slept well last night."

And then to Celebrin it seemed that the world around him was torn away, and as if waking from a nightmare he looked around him and he sat now in a dimly-lit room, outside the song of the nightingales filled the air. He wore no longer the traveling garb of Lorien, for he now wore a silver-gray tunic and the dawn of a new morning filtered into the room. Shocked and gasping for air he stared all around him as one who has not seen the world after thousands of years of sleep; Alphindil's face wore worry now instead of an amicable greeting, he gently touched his companion upon the shoulder saying softly,

"Are you well? Celebrin speak to me…"

The other shied away in fear, raising his sword before him, yet no sword lay in his hand only air; frightened he backed his way into the wall, saying with a growl in his voice,

"Begone Deceiver! Let loose your nightmarish hold upon my mind!"

The figure did not bend, only rose from his seat upon the bed and went toward the figure of the Sindar readying himself to defend any attack; yet in a quick and stalwart move the other raised his left hand to touch the gentle scar upon his companion's face, and as flesh touched flesh it seemed as if the dream world and reality were now parted again, tears flew from Celebrin's eyes and he embraced the friend before him.

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_Eight figures- yes I know there are originally nine Nazgul, but one is obviously running Angmar at this time._

_Khamul- actual name taken from the Encyclopedia of Arda, the only Nazgul Tolkien truely named, he was known as the Shadow of the East, so it made sense to have him there._


	7. The dream is sundered

_Well here is chapter 7, it and chapter 8 were originally written together witht he intention of putting them together but circumstance has forced me to seperate them even though they take place in realtivly similar time periods. I thank you those who have read and reviewd this ongoing work and beg those of you who haven't reviewd to please tell me what you think of this, your opinion matters to me. _

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As quickly as the tight embrace was initiated Celebrin felt something odd about the moment, he felt two arms wrapped around his form, strongly holding onto him in a lock of friendship. Pulling away his companion looked at him puzzled at first, then giving a slight chuckle of disbelief asked,

"Why do you recoil? I am no shadow of a dream…"

"You left…"

Celebrin interjected, trying desperately to return to the present he knew, where his memory only comprehended the image of his _gwadorind_ leaving into the sunset of the Mithlond sky, and the breaking of his heart. The other sighed in dismay looking defeated at the statement, his shoulders fell as he gazed out toward the western skies where the feet of the Hithaeglir met the gentle vale if Imladris, closing his eyes in frustration he said,

"I thought we were never going to speak about…what happened."

"Then… you did leave?"

"Yes! How many times must you remind me of that Celebrin! How many times must you remind me of that weakness?"

"Tell me what happened Alphindil… every ounce of memory."

The blue-robed elf began to pace the floor holding his arms around his being, uncomfortable with what was being recalled, as if it hurt him deeply to the point of shame, an emotion not easily maneuvered by the Noldorhim. He spoke again, as he looked into the eyes of his friend, kneeling at the other's knees he said,

"Please, do not make me recall it…It is a punishment for me to do so."

"I must know mellon nin. You do not know the dreams I have had as of late, I cannot distinguish what happened then and what has happened now, my mind tears at itself trying to remember, please…if you love me, tell me."

The other, remaining on his knees, told the tale, his voice trailed into memory and shame filled his visage, holding the hands of the seated friend he looked deeply into the eyes of his long-friend, his companion and only family,

"I left, you remember, two years ago, 998 years from the Last War of the Elves, the sun was at dusk and filled the gray harbor with its blood-red light. You gave me, upon your knees, a lock of your immortal hair as a final farewell…And as the ship pulled away I saw your figure fall to the ground, in desperation, I wanted to cry out to you, though none but the sea would hear my cry. It took all my strength to stop myself from jumping into the ever-moving waters, to swim to your side again and rekindle the friendship you ended that day…But I did not, my mind was made and my path forged before me, to return in such a manner, would have meant shame and the label of coward…and I knew not how you would receive me, knowing I had caused you such torment at our parting…Yet the skies began to darken, and the waves rushed against the ship, Osse turned the seas against his favored race and the ship we rode was tossed beyond our course. The stars were foreign in that land where the ship did stop… when again the skies cleared and before us lay no land of light or blessed song…Again the sea ripped forth from the depths and crashed us upon the rocks of hidden islands, the ship was torn in two and many a valiant elf sank beneath her weight and the sudden rage of the storm. I thought then I too would die, beneath the waves of the sea I grew to love more dearly than you…Yet my life was spared, and by some blessing of the Valar I found myself lying upon a piece of broken stern, gazing up at the blanket of stars, I was lost to their beauty and I remembered you then, how safe I was under your watch, under your wing of protection and care…And I wept as the now calm waves bore me away, for I had forsaken the one person in the world who loved me as you did, I had betrayed your gentle heart and long service, for what? I let the sea take me, knowing it was only a short matter of time before the storms returned and took me to a watery grave, but nothing happened and a current took me to where the stars I had seen from birth flung their light into my eyes…And then I saw it, the tower lights of Mithlond glowing in the distance and I swam, from that piece of torn and shattered ship toward the light of the tower guard. Far was the distance and weary my body became before I even saw the rocks of the gray cove, yet the desire to see you again claimed my mind and I knew no weakness…I did not rest until I found you…do you remember that night? Do you remember how, sea-soaked and weary I came to your door?"

Looking into the teary eyes of his companion Celebrin felt his heart break, it did not matter that none of what he had just heard were not familiar to his mind, all that mattered then was that all he had wished for what seemed like eons in his dreams had come true, or that it had all been a dream after all, a nightmare that he could not awake from. Raising his companion to his feet he again embraced Alphindil, in a whisper he said,

"I remember…"

And with laughing mingled with joy the two friends joined together in happiness, and four arms surrounded two bodies in reconciliation and renewed joy…

Feeling the tight embrace closing around him Celebrin now sensed two arms grappling him around his waist, two arms that for any other purpose should not have been used together, for his memory reminded him of the reason for his companion's leaving, and trying to pull away from the friend he held he found he had no the strength to do so. Tighter the embrace held him and the air within his lungs began to escape from his mouth, trying to let out a cry his voice was stifled by the smell of brimstone and foggy-smoke. Gone was the shadow and unveiled before him stood the rushing wall of the waves of wind and a cloaked figure wearing a gilded necklace, which sent out a bone-chilling laugh that brought fear to the hearts of men. Tighter the grasp was held and more and more he felt the life of the world leaving him, until, in his blood-filled ears, he heard a cry in a tongue he had not heard until a few days ago. And being dropped to the floor by the shadow he saw before his own prostrate figure the woman called Cidhrali wielding the sword of Elorn Uial, the song of the woods and the sea, Lin-gladaear which had been carried from a land afar and beneath the ever-moving waves. In his tear-filled eyes Celebrin saw what came to pass before him, for the shadow laughed haughtily and said in a metallic voice deep with long-anger and suffering,

"What weapon have you, wife of goats, that will cause me fear…the elf will be mine, and his bloodied carcass will lay with your own at long last."

Moving to take hold of her she moved swift as the wind that surrounded her and stood once again a warrior clad in no armor or mail. Her brow was furrowed as she swiftly ran to guard the Sindar at her feet, she cried again to the oncoming shadow and raised the sword of the ancient land. As the shadow lunged forth to take her life she swung the curved blade forged by elvish hands and cut at the pale sable robes of the terror of the east. A cry went forth from the figure, as it wreathed in pain, for long years of men it had never felt such anguish, thought immortal and almighty by the wise the figure of fear cried out at his wound as a child cries out after touching the flames he knew not would hurt him. Crying out a curse in the language of the Hated Island of men, he flew into the rushing wind and the storm began to rush harder upon them filled with a renewed anger. The woman warrior knelt in pain, and held her arm close to her body for it had become limp in as in death and purple with broken blood veins beneath unbroken skin.

Taking the woman into his protective arms, Celebrin guarded his defender and seeing a pale sea-green light emitting from the corner of his eye he saw the two wise men holding true their staves, undaunted by the raging winds, the cruel laughter had ended and all he could hear was the crashing of the wind against a mountain of light amid the shadow. Crying out to the wind the two beings of the west once again struck their staves to the ground and as if from the very foundations of the earth a wall of pure crystalline water shot up before them and pushed against the wall of wind, images of warships made of starlight were seen in the water and they flew against the might of the wind, the ground shook and the leaguer of the dark wind was broken. The battle for survival was over, the two travelers knelt in weariness as the wind was ushered away by the forces of water and the flaming figure was banished for the moment. And all four lay close that night beside the gorge, Celebrin wiped the forehead of the woman who lay in pain and fire, and over her he spoke words of healing he was taught long ago by the great ones of Ossiriand. And as the stars covered them and sleep came, her pain was over and she slept in peace, dreaming of far off lands, hidden in the mist.

The next day greeted the weary ones to a bright sunrise and a quick dispersing of the light of the stars. Pallando was the first to awaken and next his companion Alatar; at the rising of the sun they spoke, with furtive glances at the others who lay sleeping close together for warmth when the desert became cold in the din of night. Alatar spoke looking at the elf,

"He was nearly killed yesterday, brought down by his wants and desires…what hope does he have here where the very land creates images that are not there and perilous if seen as truth…"

"We brought him because you wished to bring him, here he must face his past, here he must conquer it for his sake so that he may live again…were he to return he would be more of a danger to others, and himself. Yet he is your guest, you must decide to counsel him on these matters."

And they left their conversation at that; Pallando rode his horse west in search of any sign of their lost companion called Curumo yet no sign did he see or sense of him, thinking his fellow traveler lost to life and time he turned as the sun began to reach higher in the firmament of the sky.

Into the west the winds of violence were driven and through the lands of Harad and Khand the great storm flew; none of it was counted in the history of Gondor, yet in the records of Harad and Khand it was told of in great detail, for the shadow storm destroyed villages and covered many livestock and human in choking fine grains of sand. Before the borders of Rhun it stopped and inhumanly stood before the borders of the land, an impenetrable wall of choking ash colored wind, dark was its visage and none even of the wise could see through its veil of sand. At the borders of Rhun the monstrous wall of ash-wind threw from its depths a figure dressed in tattered white robes and the lifeless body of a horse. As the thrown figure stood tall against the sky-height wind a dark a deep voice laughed at the small figure's bravery; his guttural laugh sounded as if stone were crashing against stone and grinding all around it to nothingness,

"Where do you go wise Curumo? Home to your master of stone, or to lick your wounds as a cat defeated in battle.?"

"You cannot destroy me Gorthaur! I know your mind, brother disowned and hated by the west…I fear you not and heed none of what you say."

"No indeed Curumo of Aule…brother in ancient time before the making of Ea…Lost you are now to the East, Return home! And find what loss awaits you!"

"You cannot deter my mission Sauron! Lord of the Abhorred!"

"Not now indeed…but from the East you are barred, what hope lies for you there? Your kinsman gone…weak and easily they fell without you at their side, my vultures will make good sport of them…and the elf; was he not easy to take my pet? A wretched mind brought to me…you were kind to do so, he was a treat indeed."

"Play not your games with me Deceiver, I will see your days ended!"

"Now is not the time, we have much sport to enact you and I, old friend…Let us see how you place the pieces of your game against mine own…if indeed your pawns will forever be against me… the first gain is mine, remember that Curumo…all the days of your life, remember your first failing."

And with that the shadow-wind fled away and all that stood before Curumo was a wide expanse of land; trying his best to peer into the desert land he could not see or feel any inkling of his companions…so far they were now from his mind and feeble hope he came to believe what the dark one said true. Turning he walked toward the setting of the sun, defeated and without pride in his loss; alone now where he had left with three others at his side…who knew then in his hours of lonely westward wandering what he thought in the dark depths of his mind, of the words he shared with Sauron.

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_Thus ends chapter 7 and on a bit of a mysterious note, this is my little musing as to how and when the treachery of Sauron began to take place, and as a possibility his guilt of this failure could have led him to wish to supplant Sauron...well thats my interpretation any way. _

_gwadorind- a construction of "brother of the heart" adeeperterm for the normal adoptive brother relationship._

_Taking a bit from Tolkien's work it is of course the woman who has the possibility of destroying the Nazgul, just thought I would throw that in there._

_Please R&R i would greatly appreciate it, thanks_


	8. Beside the Gorge

_Thanks for your reviews, I realize the ending of Chapter 6 and the beginning of chapter & might have confused some, but it felt that it showed a vulnerablility in the mind of Tolkien's creation, a vulnerability that makes the elves more human. But i digress, here is chapter 8_

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As Celebrin awoke to a warm morning of the desert land he looked for Thingalad, his ancient horse from the western lands, the noble creature sat upon its four legs, resting in the rising heat, his now white image was blinding to the eye just opened from uncomfortable dreams; none stood awakened in the place, for the others were either fast asleep or away performing errands of mystery…In the time alone with the horse Celebrin spoke of many things, of his dark dreams, of his fears and of many new items that came to light, for he had none save this last companion to share his intimate thoughts and feelings. And the horse would look this way and that, yet it seemed as if the noble steed had heard everything the elf said, yet lacked the wisdom to say anything in return, nor did he wish to, for the thoughts of the elves are deep and few can fathom their depths, save their own kind. Yet as he spoke he heard a voice, ancient and full of wisdom come from behind him, 

"So I see you have awoken Sir Uial, how was your rest?"

"It was well Master Alatar, as well as could be suspected from the occurrences of yesterday…"

"Be not angered with yourself Uial, any one of us could have been taken by the trickery of Sauron, you knew yourself that the vision was perilous despite that it was what you wished…nay longed to see and hear and feel…can you deny yourself that much consolation?"

"What consolation is there in weakness Alatar? Yes I tried to pull away…but I was weak in the sense that I wished it to be true and that upon knowing its fatal truth still longed for it as the black breath filled my lungs…no Master Alatar, there is no consolation in what happened."

"So then you wish to return home, away from this wasteland that brings to mind all you lost, all you long in vain for?"

"Why return home? When the memories are as potent there as the fantasies here?"

"At least there…they are mere memories, here the workings of the mind are perilous…"

"Do you wish me gone from your sight? Do you wish that you had never brought me knowing what a poor one of mind I am?"

"No Uial…I only caution that you do not remain where the dark lord may have sway over an already weakened heart…"

"There is a reason the elves give advice in two-fold, master Alatar, one advice given leaves the advice lacking in merit…"

And with that the elf walked from the site, angered by the other's words and angered still at how easy it was for him to be taken by the fantasy of Sauron…he was the foster child of Cirdan, the eldest of all elves upon Middle-Earth who in his antiquity was the deepest of mind and the strongest of will…he was the scion of ancient loins, trained in the arts of knowledge and power by the Queen Melian herself, and yet he possessed no guard, no defense against a simple trick, an open door lay in his heart and the Deceiver knew exactly where the arrow should fly, never in his past would he have been susceptible to such a thing…no normal elf would, that is what made them different from mortals is it not? Or where they closer to their Kindred in heart than even the wisest knew?

He wandered some way off until he came to where the great gorge was widest before it began its narrowing journey to the north where the mountains in the distance seem to gleam a ruddy, deep scarlet. In brooding he sat upon the very edge of the gorge and let the hot wind brush against him, remembering an old song taught to him long ago,

Then I saw the great green wood

And I heard within a song

Beneath woven trees

Lady of the willows

To you my heart shall belong.

No clearer song I have heard

Than the one you sing to me

I leave all behind

And seek only your song

Abandoning the great sea

Here among the woven trees

Where I am far from the sea

Oh, Most Beautiful

Lady of the Willows

I hear your voice calling me

In blessed realms where I dwell

You are at my side e'r on

Until the mountains

Become a vale

And death take me from your side

Here among the woven trees

Where I am far from the sea

Oh, Most Beautiful

Lady of the Willows

I hear your voice calling me

"What is it you sing?"

Turning to see the intruder of his private thoughts he beheld before him the form of the woman called Cidhrali, her black hair flowing in the wind as the sable banner of Dior in the days of old, it shimmered with an inner light, a light similar to the radiance of the moon, if ever the moon were hid behind a sable veil. Her skin was as the color of the brown earth, a hue that Celebrin had never seen in his life, the Harad he had seen in times of war were darker than she was, or rather it was the blackness of their hearts that seemed to cloud their features. Her skin was radiant and earthen, were she in the fastness of Greenwood or Doriath she would not be seen for her features matched her to the time of night, and there amid the blinding sun she was a vision of this blessed night. Celebrin smiled to see her and in response he said simply,

"You no have songs where you from?"

"We have songs, no as beautiful or as…e_shagarir_"

"_Eshagarir? _What this mean?"

The woman pointed to her breast and toward her heart, as she spoke the word again she moved her fingers to her lips and kissed them; Celebrin smiled as he spoke the meaning she was trying to convey in a language she hardly knew,

"Lovely, full of love…"

She nodded as he said this and they sat together in silence she pointing to different objects and saying them in her language she would ask him to define them in his, and together they began to speak, as Beor began to speak with Fingon in days long past when the tongues of men and elves were parted by many miles and by time and circumstance.

The day wore on passing from one hour to the next and the heat of daylight beat heavily down upon them and the gorge beneath sang with an unusual ferocity water rushed down from it and flowed into a great chasm at the end, where the river that flew from the mountains in the distance returned again to the bosom of the earth where all things were held secret and away from the light of the sun and moon. The two new found friends returned to the encampment and there found the two aged men sitting in silent meditation, as the wind of the sunset blew in from the west and made their sea-blue robes wave and torrent in the likeness of the waves betide the sea. Alatar began to speak to the Sindar but a gentle look of the eyes told both that the conversation they would have concerning the happenings of the day would be best if kept in private. Despite the lack of food the four weary forms spent that night beside a small hearth fire barely visible by the eagles' eye and spoke much of what would come to pass, Celebrin would translate often for the woman as she stared blankly as the two aged men spoke in a tongue she had barely begun to understand; and though this small council took long hours it spoke greatly of many things that would never be seen or heard of in the lands of the west where the writers of history turn time to song and song to legend.

"We must consider a place to wait this storm, Sauron has already several hundred years ahead of us in this place. If indeed our mission to supplant his power here is to succeed we must gain a foothold also."

Pallando said, the dire need for support came as a realization that was hard to fathom, they were alone and to return to the elves of the West and ask, nay beg, for aid in a land that was not their own was lunacy.

"Then what do you suggest we do Pallando, the elves and men of the west cannot come to our aid, and a mere battle of power with the servant of the Dark One would drain us to oblivion, we cannot battle him now, were he to come upon us I fear we would fail where we stand."

"Alatar, I do not mean to face him head on as we stand here, only to consider the need for aid, and the need for it soon…the three of us do not have the strength and will to take his forces…therefore there is but one option left to us…"

'And what would that be? Run? Stand and fight a vain battle? …"

"No…we must destroy his base of power, he stands now upon the shoulders and bent backs of slaves…you saw that village, how many would you deem Alatar were there of their own free will?"

The ancient man looked at the ground, he seemed troubled by his thoughts and though he never saw the pangs of slavery he could see the shame in the eyes of they beside the well, how drab their clothing hung from their malnourished forms and how the iron bands about their wrists clanged as they went through their daily work.

"How then do you suspect we take this ground from under him? Cause a revolution?"

"Yes!"

A shout came from where the woman sat listening to this council between they whom she had helped not but a few days ago; in her innocence and plain spoken courage she stood then with three sets of eyes upon her and three sets of ears listening for the words that would come from her mouth. Were they to see her naked back or beneath her rag-like skirts they would see scars from a long and arduous life, were they to see her naked wrists they would have seen the iron made scars of chains and the bonds of slavery. Her voice quaked as she began to speak, looking at the elf behind her, whose shimmering eyes she both feared and revered, unsure if what she would say would be carried out to the two aged men; Celebrin nodded for her to speak in her own tongue and as she did she heard the other behind her speaking in a tongue so distant from her own, yet the power of her words seemed to break forth and a fire erupted from within her breast as she spoke sternly and with tears flowing from her eyes,

"For many years my people prayed to the sun god to give us salvation, and when he turned his back upon us we prayed to the moon goddess and to the great red mountains of our ancient lands. And yet our voices were unheeded as dark men from the south and north took over my grandmother's village and destroyed my family's honor by raping our women and killing our men and boys. Our humble people knelt upon the ground beneath the banner of the eye and the darkness ruled over us for countless generations! And still we prayed to our father sky and mother earth and no salvation came, and my grandmother in her youth took my people to the farthest reaches of the east to the red mountains where the spirits of the earth lived and to them we prayed for aid! But nothing happened and still my people held on to their hope, and day by day year by year my people were freed from bondage but so few of us remain to walk the world freely as we did in the day before the darkness…and my people have begun to loose hope! And then you came…and you stood against them and did not fear them and then I knew you were sent by the spirits who sing in the woods and who promised my father they would send us absolution. You came with your shining sticks and bright swords and brilliant eyes and I knew you were here to help us! Please do not leave, my people thirst for hope again and I know you can give them the hope to take back the land that was stolen from them, I know you can help us…"

She spoke no more, and just stood there silent breathing in deep breaths worn from the passion that fueled her speech and tears from her eyes ceased to flow for her ducts were emptied and her voice quivered as she looked on at the two aged men. Their silence went from astonishment to deep pervasive thought and was at last broken by the elf before them coming from behind the woman and speaking in a forceful voice filled with urgency,

"Why do you wait? She has given you what you seek! A people yearning to be free from this yoke the dark lord has placed upon them, a people who in the event of their uprising will weaken the foundations that He stands upon…And what is more, she speak of spirits in the woods of the mountains, mountains that resemble the old tales of the earth womb of the elves."

This last part he whispered and the eyes of the two twin men opened with a sudden realization and breathing in they said in the language they themselves have never heard before a few days ago,

"We will do what you wish."

And the woman leapt for joy at what she heard and the elf had to calm her for she wished at that moment to leave to find her people's refuge and she cried out to the moon that traced the sky, gracing the world with his presence, thought she called the moon a woman, she thanked her ancestors and danced before the hearth fire to invisible music as the others looked on in amazement at her joy, until sleep came and took her to bed where her dreams were filled with a renewed hope.

Yet one who kept watch looked at the stars that he had seen so many nights of his long and woefully bitter-sweet life and he looked into the darkness that seemed to cover the south in a dark a impenetrable cloud, then in a voice hale and filled with vigorous anger and vengeance,

"I swear upon my life Dark One, you shall ever be haunted by my presence, for you have stolen all I loved and have used it to cripple me…yet know this liar and deceiver of lesser beings never again shall Celebrin, Tinnu's son, be swayed by your words and before my last breath leaves me I will see you fall and die away into nothingness and all the sorrow you have brought into this world will end before my last breath."

And this he ended as he solemnly lay beside the fire and watched the stars in silence until the dawning of the new day.

* * *

_Yes i realize in the Tolkien world the sun was a female maia, and the moon was a male maia, but mortals of course never knew the original maia, nor did the Avari so by any means their thoughts about the sun and moon would be similar to the views of many cultures. _


	9. In the vale of Helcar

_Well here is an update of our little band of misfits, this chapter took long to write, im sorry, mostly cause of outside forces repelling against me...and writer's block, hopefully it doesn't show. Enjoy and review please!_

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Forseveral days they traversed the alien land, stopping as night would cover the vast sapphire sky and reveal the stars of this new land, when they departed the lands of the west the season that rang out was end of spring, now it seemed as if the very stars portended the beginning of winter's predecessor, though no leaves or trees abounded to which they could tell. And as they removed themselves from the mouth of the gorge that had been their neighbor for two days they came upon a hellish country, though the hills were emptied of green, cool, grass and replaced with hard, cruel sand. Before them stood a vast and intemperate plain, for as the dune-land fell away into the south the ground became as rock and fruitless to the touch of gentle life of green. The sand that blew up from the barren ground tasted of salt and small dry ravines told only the lie of the coming of water. They stood then at the beginning of the vast plain, the final grave of Helcar; yet neither aged man, elf or woman of mortal blood knew fully the long sorrowful history of that plain that once abounded green till the false tower Illuin fell from it's mighty height, its flame causing the lands to burn to desert and its stone form breaking to pieces as the snow of the mountains melted and formed the ancient sea of the East. Barren is that land now for as the old wives do tell, "If salt be within the soil, ye shall have no fruit from land and toil". The man called Alatar as the wisest of the twin companions closed his eyes and felt the dry breeze flow over the heated plain as red mountains rose in the distance as a fortress against the dry south. He spoke at last before they began their laborious trek through the wasteland,

"I sense a great power here, beneath the roots of the mountains, lying dormant…and unknown nourishment for the land that is thirsty."

To which the woman called Cidhrali spoke, having obtained much knowledge of the stranger's tongue,

"The ancients say…it was a…great water…long ago. But the water goddess became angry…and the water disappeared, and the demon eye, sealed the land…so nothing would grow…"

"Then this must be the ancient sea of Helcar…long have I wondered at the stories I was told of its beauty and its vastness…Alas, the beauty has fled and the vastness remains."

Celebrin spoke these words as silence filled their hearts at what was once the largest inland sea of all of middle earth, the only one fed with the fabled spring of life. With a sigh of exhaustion they continued their journey over the hills of sand and upon the flawlessly smoothened plain that shimmered like dull glass in the afternoon sun. When night came they had journeyed into what they called then, Talath Anorui, the plain of the fiery sun, for that is what Cidhrali had called it when they asked her of its name, which in her tongue is, Nefdair Kuedaliu.

That night as they sat beneath the stars the travelers learned more of the history of Cidhrali's people who were called the People of the Deer. Long was their history placed in the untold tales of the first tribes of men, none of them idyllically remembered the actual number of tribes that first sprang up from the earth at the dawning of the sun, nor could any remember how such tribal differences first came into being. It was the musing of the elves that mortals awoke as they did, each knowing their own clan from the rest. The woman knew much of the history of her people, which led the others to believe she was royalty of some sorts, a princess of a fallen king, yet her mannerisms were rough and would not fit well with high lineage, she was rough though her speech was fair, if anything she resembled the women of the Nandor in relevance to the elder kind, for they were still a tribal people, living off of the land and abiding little the rulings of the courts, unless it were a time of war. The woman spoke in hushed and silent voice as if the ears of the enemy surrounded them that night, she spoke of the tribes of men, how many it is said among their elders, once used to live in peace at the first rising of the sun. She spoke of the coming of the Dark One, and how easily tribes of men fell under his rule and dominion, some would rise to power among the Dark One's forces, and others, who resisted, led a life of bondage and ridicule. Then she spoke reverently of the elders of the tribes who rebelled against the dark powers and freed their country-men from shackle and chain; yet while she waxed in her storytelling there lay an underlined sorrow as well, for, she said, in the freeing of their people the Elders became outlaws in their own land, exiles and vagrants who wandered the desert searching for a land free of the Dark One's grip. She spoke of names that were alien to the traveler's ears, and they rolled from her tongue as water flows from the head of a fountain.

And as the hearth fire crackled and the night drew on rest came to their weary heads and the two aged men lay their heads upon the cold ground and with their eyes open looking into the stars entered the realm of dreams where they held private council meant for the minds of the wise. The elf and the woman remained looking at the same stars with waking eyes, and silence flowed from their mouths for the sight that they saw was unlike anything either had seen, for now in this vast, untamed wilderness nothing stood between them and the stars in the high heavens, such was the sight that only sailors upon an open ocean see have the opportunity of seeing. Celebrin turned his gaze from the stars to the woman who sat beside him, and his mind flew back in time and memory, to when he first heard of the eastern people. And he thought silently to himself how he had once thought the other races of men to be as evil or as intemperate as the orcs themselves, yet she was the opposite of such descriptions. Wisdom flew from her words and there was ancientness about her demeanor that made her seem to be as one of the Eldar, though her skin was dark and her hair unkempt. He then realized as the seconds drew on that he was starring at her visage as though he was starring at the first rising of the moon, as though he was spanning the depths of the sea looking for game in the wild of the abysmal sea. And in his realization his eyes met with her own for she too gazed at him in wonder, seeing before her the ancient ones her people called Kadjinai, the spirits of the earth, sky and river. With a furtive and shy smile her gaze was broken and she looked into the hearth fire, her mind began to race through the stories told by her people, of how the Kadjinai fooled with the hearts of women, making them live their entire lives in pursuit of a dream and those told by her grandmother, of benevolent beings who brought forth the rain with their midnight dances and drank from a spring that granted all life immortality. Children stories of taps on the shoulders of lonely wanderers passed through her mind while in his their raced thoughts of other means and ways; he knew not why he gazed at her as he did, nor could he feel any emotion other than wonder at her persona and her being, yet in some strange way he felt…guilty for staring at her so, as if a bond that once was most cherished began to break. The silence around him began to thicken and in an attempt to speak he brought forth a glottal sound from his throat as if some presence held it from speaking words to this mortal woman. She began to speak in his reluctance looking toward the earth and then in a straight and effortless path to the iris of his own eyes,

"What are you called … in the West?"

"We…call ourselves, Eldar…or Quendi…

"What do they…mean?"

"They mean…'they who speak' and 'people of the stars'…Why are you called goat people?"

"We are called no such thing!"

An anger and resentment rose in her voice as if it hurt to hear those words come from one she trusted; immediately her body tensed and she held herself as if a child with her arms wrapped around her knees. Yet she stared into the fire with eyes of dark brooding hue, as the night that waits for the dawn, the already natural slant of her eyes deepened as she peered into the hearth fire and spoke in her own tongue, for it was what she knew best and the stranger oddly enough knew more than what she expected, being that he learned it only a week hence.

"My people are not herdsman, they live simply off of the land, taking only what they needed and never forcing from the land more than what would grow; for our knowledge of the earth we were made to farm for the dark one and feed his burgeoning masses. Yet the land became unfertile after many years and we were sent to herd sheep and goats in the hills and for this we are called goat people…and for no other reason…the true name of our folk is due to our reverence for the light footed beast that dwells in the forest of the red mountains, though we have led a life now of raising horses in recent times, for the salt of the sand will not allow anything to grow again without much toil, and all the deer, who once trusted us now run from our face."

"How many of you are there? For you make it seem as if your rebellion would be welcomed in all parts of the land…"

"It would, save that most of our forces lies still under the yolk of the Eye, and our tribes are scattered, we cannot unite again for to do so would mean being crushed by the eye if we indeed draw too much support…yet you and your comrades can change that."

"How…?"

"I saw with my own eyes the power you wield, the ancient ones defeated the wind storm and you…you did not fear the shadows and your weapons injured him…even in my hands…"

"My weapon can do nothing for you, it is only metal and wood, though it is ancient, it is only that…"

"No other weapon could harm the shadow yet yours did so…"

"I do not fear them because of what I am, you know not the life I have led that allows me to not fear such…"

"Death?… I see it in your eyes, you longed to be killed by that creature and yet you were not…If you are indeed one of the Kadjinai, then you have at long last come to help us in our distress…as you said you would."

"What is this name you call me…what does it mean?"

"The Kadjinai are beings who live in the mountains, they rule over the earth, waters, fires and winds…by all accounts your are of their kind…"

"I know not of what you speak…I am no spirit being, you saw so yourself, I can be killed, I can bleed- I cannot control the waters, or the fires of the earth, do not place me so high as what you revere…"

"Yet your weapons and your power controlled the waters beneath the land, and your sword injured the shadow being…"

"I believe that it may have only done that because of you…you are a woman, a being who has the ability to create life, whereas they…are figments of death…"

"Though it is an interesting guess stranger, I doubt it severely…"

The strange voice interjected and from behind them stood a shadow cloaked in a sable garment, his face was covered with a deep black shall not even revealing his eyes in the firelight. He stood with a blade unsheathed in his hand, the curve of it, like a red crescent moon glimmered of bronze and shone red in the light of the small campfire. Celebrin unsheathed his own sword and stood as quickly as he heard the voice utter its first words, yet as he stood and faced the figure in the eye the woman stood also and held her arms at bay toward him, protecting the strange shadow being. Turning to him she spoke in her native tongue, in a familiar and informal tone as if she were chastising a child,

"Why did you not make your presence known? Why did the horses not call out at your intrusion?"

"These beasts, while noble, are starved, it was easy to bait them…and how was I to know it was truly your voice I heard from the distance, there are many strange things walking in the world, even more powerful than my love for you."

Came the reply in a laughing tone, its friendly lilt eased Celebrin's worries though his sword still stood raised against the shaded being, Cidhrali seeing this still remaining fear brought down the cowl of the shadow and revealed the figure as a mortal who gazed through eyes as similar to hers, filled with ancient stars and whose hair was as sable as the cowl he hid behind. Yet his face was less marred and filled with worry and a smile came easily to it, more so than a frown; Cidhrali with her palm placed Celebrin's sword down toward the ground as she pointed to the new face and said,

'He is my brother…"

* * *

_gasp- Celebrin hits upon a bit of Tolkien mythology! _

_A word on the language of the eastern tribes:_

_-right now i am using Native American and Eastern Aisan terms for names- hint, hint-_

Nefdair Kuedaliu nvda ugedaliyv_two words meaning sun valley, I dont remember exactly which langauge this is from_

Kadjinai Katchina _Hopi word for spirit being similar to elves._

_( elvish) Talath Anorui- Anor + Norui, sun+fiery fiery sun_


	10. Worlds Apart

_Well here it is, the latest update, and only after a few weeks of absence. If you forgot what happened then i suggest reading the last chapter, I know i had to. Just kidding. _

_A slight warning in that in the second large paragraph, after the dialouge there is a transition of scene and character. Im sorry but it just came out that way. _

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There at the small campfire three figures sat with elongated shadows flowing behind them like sable bridal veils moving to the dancing tongues of fire as the fire itself danced with the wind of that great plain. Each sat at first in silence, as though neither spoke the same tongue, judging mind for mind in the ancient ways as the noble lords of the eldar did, yet neither of them possessed such power, such wisdom, though one fell under the wing of one so great in that ability, yet for childish rebellion chose not to learn of his ancient secrets. At last the new face amid their company spoke, his grasp of his own tongue had a larger foundation as though he spoke no other and chose not to in his own wild and proud way. He heard the name of this new being and liked it little for the sound of its lilt and the music of its fluidity, yet he spoke his own name with pride for it indeed was a name of strength, Tal-ano. His eyes were of a fiercer light and the darkness of his skin far greater than his sister's as though he had spent countless eons lying face up in the sands of this sun-kissed valley. He spoke then rashly, wary of strangers though ever wishing to greet them as friends, a dual trait that served his people well in making alliances,

"So, pale face, you say you come from the West, so too does the Eye, are you then his spy dressed in beseeming garb?"

"Do not speak to him as such Talán, he is of the Kadjinai…"

The woman spoke then scolding her brother as though he had insulted his own father and accused her of treachery, yet as quickly as the words left her mouth his reverberated in sibling debate, not meant for prying ears to hear for they spoke in hushed voices and quickly rising and falling with their mood,

"They are only children's tales…"

"He does not fear the shadow-beings"

" Because he is one of them…"

"You used to trust… trust me and my mind…"

With a wary glance the man called Talán frowned and looked to the east where the sun rose over the flat plain of Talath Anorui and its first beams graced their gathered faces though hundreds of miles away the thoughts of a lone elf looked to the East when his eyes were used to looking West in these times of watchful peace. Silently this elf sat in a house abandoned by grief and anger, a house made of ancient design, long forgotten by the forest dwellers with whom he was kin, though for him his chief love was that of the sea. He gazed toward the eastern stars as the hour of midnight passed away and the new morning dawned in the farthest distance as far as elves eyes could see; open before him lay a book of blank pages, large and rather cumbersome covered in a dark blue lining, engraved with silver and bronze designs that encircled it as the waves of the sea. The page that lay open to his eyes bespoke a map of a foreign and long forgotten land, intricate in its detail yet rushed in its making. No words graced the landforms, for no written tongue existed when the pen marked its original and drew the forms of an ever-changing land. The ancient hands graced over its deep pressed engravings as though he were a blind man searching for meaning amid the curves of the valleys and hills and the points of the mountaintops.

"Hir Cirdan…?"

A voice, hushed though quick, filled the silence of the moment and the ancient elf was brought back from the peace of his worried mind as though he was rushed from sleep- disoriented and regaining his consciousness he turned his head to look behind him and found a figure standing before him silhouetted in the light of the open doorway. Quickly closing his book he stood before the figure and spoke in a tone of guarded secret,

"Yes…what is it?"

The dark haired servant came forward into the light of his lamp and bowed, clearly afraid of having startled his master,

"Forgive me Hir Cirdan, but you have a visitor…"

"I shall see no visitors this hour Tinulas…"

"…My lord, you bade me let none disturb you save one of the travelers…one is present, in your vestibule…"

Within moments the ancient elf was dressed in garment befitting the hour of the night, and with a gentle wash of his face the tears and fatigue of the night were kept at bay. Through the dimly lit hallways of his residence he was led to the open coolness of the early morning and the open gardens that were the vestibule of his home and the back entrance also to the grand hall that lay beyond in darkness not yet ready to greet the new day. The fountain of the garden flowed with a musical quality, its silver moonlit water lighting the center of the courtyard and the face of a bent figure, clad in gray and leaning upon a staff of gnarled wood, the wide brim of a newly made hat covering his face from the falling drizzle that so often accompanied the lands by the sea. Upon first sight of the gray figure the gentle lord's eyes were filled with grief, for rather than the comforting presence of this one new friend, he wished for a once seen hue of sea-blue, or the image of white. The traveler's eyes were shown in greeting yet some foreknowledge of the elf's face bade him ask,

"Is all well Lord Cirdan? You seem…disappointed to see me."

"Nay dear Mithrandir, I…only expected another…"

"Ah…"

The gray traveler said, with certain wisdom in his heart, the wisdom of one who has lived a long and knowledgeable life, though in truth it had been only a short amount of time that he had indeed lived upon the shores of Middle-Earth.

"What do you wish to speak of…new friend?"

"In truth I came to bring you news, some you may find endearing other parts, considering your peace of mind, you may find harrowing."

"And why would I find the whole of it bittersweet Mithrandir?"

"For it concerns one…with whom your mind goes with every hour in your sleep."

"Celebrin? It concerns him?…I pray you, tell me what of it?"

"In the east the word goes forth that one has returned, who set out into the lands that appear not in the maps of the elves or men."

"Who?"

"One of my folk…the name he bears in this land is Saruman or Curunir, the last you saw him he was arrayed in white and spoke with a voice most powerful."

"And what news did he bring?"

The voice of the ancient lord was filled with wonder and earnest intrigue as he came forward toward Mithrandir, who in the short time of his stay had become great friends with the ancient elf, and a confidant entrusted with the mind of the gentle elven lord. Their voices became hushed, for at that hour the servants began to startle and the lighting of the morning drew near.

"He spoke of many things to me, and yet I perceived in our chance encounter amid the ancient wood of Fangorn that he saw much and wished a great part of it to not be heard by my ears. There amid the murmurings of the ancient wood he spoke of the lands of the east and…how he came to return to our own…He says a dark and malevolent force pushed him here, spanning countless miles and sundering him from his companions…I fear the power of the dark one has grown in the east, yet he seemed it to be only one of his minions still holding onto the faint hope of gaining his masters former power…"

"And what do you believe?"

"His knowledge is great, and I do not doubt his words, save only in one fact…he denies vehemently the idea of His return, and some shame resides in his heart, by means of defeat or some other factor I do not know…The good council I bring from this chance encounter is that by all accounts the main bulwark of this influence lies primarily in the farthest corners of the east, far from the lands we now live upon, and that Curunir has returned to us, perhaps by chance and fate, to guide us in preparing for the evil that comes."

"And yet you spoke of ill news…what of Celebrin? What of my so…what of my kinsman?"

"No others returned with Saruman…"

"No, he is not dead Mithrandir, nothing in this Curunir's account bespeaks anything of truth in Celebrin's death and I will not believe such…this is not news but speculation, what you say is nothing…"

"I know not if his words speak true Lord Cirdan, I only know that I tried with all the powers with which I was endowed to seek in thought my own kinsmen who were missing…I found nothing but space and time nothing but the vast abyss before me…you alone upon this world are known to have sight deeper and farther than any that are alive, what does your own thought tell you?"

"I…I know not…I have not sent my sight eastward…"

"I know that you would not wish to see what I am telling you…but I know you have gazed into the East, you wear it upon your face, even now, you look eastward, wishing to know if what I say is truth, but you alone know that answer…"

"Yes…I do…"

And his gaze turned Eastward again, to the lighting of the lanterns that stood atop the gate of Mithlond and a sigh escaped his lungs as his mind began to darken with the thoughts that entered his mind. Yet some hope clung to his chest that the coming of Curunir meant that the others, who left with him, would follow soon enough, and rather than see endless miles of Eriador beyond the gates of Mithlond, he would see a figure riding a white horse, and bearing a scar upon his cheek.

**

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**

The new day arose to find the weary travelers conversing with their newest addition, the brother of their guide into the eastern realm of Sauron's enemies; though in his eyes he bore an ill-trust of these new beings, his mind spoke of other things, for one among the elderly men had with him the gift to see the silent thoughts that men do not say with their mouths and eyes, similar to how the birds of the air and the creatures of the earth speak to those who cannot understand their speech. Ever did the man called Tal-ano, keep his watchful gaze upon the elf before him, not truly knowing what to think of this strange creature's ears, or the seeming-fair face he bore upon his countenance. Nor could he erase from his mind the sight of his own sister protecting the stranger from his own sword, as though she were…bound to him. The travelers found- to their amazement that in their slow and methodical journey through the unchanging landscape, beneath the blazing sun, who in this land was called "he"- they had traveled far away from the net of the malevolence that drove them there and stood now in the new morning closer to the mountains of red that gleamed like unpolished ruby or like the summit of Amon Rudh in the time of flowering. Yet to the eyes of the elf there grew no _seregon_ upon the slopes of those red mountains, nor did the mountain seem to bleed with the blood of warfare. There stood before him the Orocarni, the red mountains of his parents' fond memories; now they seemed smaller than he imagined them in his young mind when his father would describe the birthplace of the elves.

"We have entered the land of my people…"

Spoke Cidhrali as she surveyed the land she was born in, she seemed different at this time, for though during the journey she was closer to mortal in appearance and action something lay hidden behind her eyes, a wisdom beyond her years, an ageless soul behind a youthful form- as though she was indeed an ancient spirit that was reborn with every new generation. There at the borders of her people's land she grew in stature among them, riding the horse of her brother, and in truth revealed herself in voice and manner to take a certain pride in claiming the lands that now stood barren before them, as though she were a king of old regaining the land that was taken from him. The horse of her brother was a sight to the travelers as well, for it was black as nightshade, a breed that only the minions of the dark lord dare ride, yet this steed was different than the mockeries raised in the caverns of Mordor, under the guidance of Sauron's hand. This beast was noble, and like his rider, bore the night sky in it's coat and mane, and the sun shined off of her as though she were black marble surrounded by crystal glass and lined with silver. Smaller she was beside the horses of the elves the other three rode upon, yet her strength was hidden amid her beseeming eyes. The land too was coy to the eye and unrevealing of its nature, for though it seemed immediately that it was barren there rose, as they entered, varied herbs, bushes and small gnarled trees of different breeds that no elf west of Rhun had ever seen before. Hidden from view lay beasts of many shapes, colors and sizes that upon the setting of the sun and the travelers' arrival began to appear. As night drew over them and the sky became filled with countless lanterns and the sickle moon hung facing away from them, a bow pointed toward the sky; with the fading of the sun beneath the western sky came varied and wondrous fragrances from the herbs that lay at their feet; some smelled bitter, others sweet, and others ancient, remnants of the sea floor that was Talath Anorui.

Silent these travelers were, as they passed through the rocks that lay at the roots of the mountains, an easterly breeze came toward them and in it the ancient smell of cedar, oak, pine and cypress entered their noses, from a forest far away and unknown to any, even the eldest of the lands inhabitants. Celebrin himself went to Cidhrali's side and asked of her,

"Where lies this wood that is present in the eastern wind?"

To which she replied,

"There lies no wood to the east, or at least as far as our scouts can say, beyond our lands it is forbidden to go, for none return that journey there."

In the distance of their path rose a gathering of gnarled trees, thick of trunk and of light wistful leaves; from their branches hung a strange sight to those who knew only the acorns of the oak and the cones of the pine, for similar in form and seeming function what hung from the branches were long and hard as though they were seeds, pods bearing the seeds of the tree. Meskidar, Cidhrali called it as they passed under its branches and stood before a hill that led into a valley aflame with red campfires and from which the sound of strange, tribal, rhythmic music floated toward the starlit sky.

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_**Tal-ano (Talan)-** new character, not part of Tolkien's originals obviously but he is worth mentioning as Cidhrali was. Though his name does not bear any resemblance to any Indian word it does have a root. Thalion, the elvish word for strength, used under the presumption that all languages formed from the same tongue, as was the language of Beor when he met Finrod. _

_**Meskidar**- from the word Mesquite, I realize that mesquite is a "New World" plant, but so were tomatoes and potatoes and they made it to middle earth somehow_

_Thank you all who have read my other works and written reviews, they help greatly. And this is an apology to all as well, In earlier chapters I mention the Orocarni, but i spelled them Orcani, huge mistake, terribly sorry._


	11. the seed of Morgoth

_At long last an update, I am sorry for the extreme absence of me as of late, the muse so to speak has not been very vocal. But out of the days that i have been idle this chapter opened up and I must admit it isnt my crowning achievement, only a bridge to get somewhere i wish to go. _

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The land of the Eastern people who stood free from the shadow that engulfed their lands lay south of the great mountain range called the Orocarni, A land that was once profuse in valleys and whose gentle sloping hills were once covered in lush green and whose great rivers flew longer than the Anduin to the ocean on the other side of the broken world. These great rivers are now dwindled, save in times of rain, for under the hand of the dark one, the land became barren and wasted, and this paradise was lost. The only remnant of its ancient glory remains closed in the fortresses of the Orocarni, in a wood, which does not yet enter this tale, in a valley that would remain hidden from the eyes of men for many years. The borders of the lands of Harad and Rhun were ever changing in those days when Khamul, the dark hand of Sauron in the east, ruled in his capital, the only city standing in great height east of Minas Ithil in the land of Gondor. The city stood at the edge of that great sun burnt valley opposing the very fortresses of the Orocarni, it was in this way that the vast wasteland that was the valley protected those it cursed. For none of the either the Harad to its south nor the Easterlings to its West would dare cross it for fear of the mighty spirit that flowed beneath its flat and motionless plain, save when the whips of their masters lay close upon their backs. Long years had past since the days that the free-peoples sought shelter beyond the land that they curse and consider something so strange and evil by its sight and angered hatred.

Yet beneath the light of the silver crescent moon that hung low in the eastern sky the sun-scorched valley looked like the surface of a blue pearlescent stone that was newly polished by the waves of the sea. The sand dunes of Harad to its immediate south could not be seen as the distance they had traveled dwarfed them in the horizon; if one were to climb to the height of the nearest mountain they would see a large scar running across it that once fed a mighty river valley; in that deep and dark night that shone with unending stars the violet blue veil that covered the entire world was pierced only by a faint glow in the distance from where the travelers now tread.

Silently the travelers walked through the valley where the ruddy, rocky mountains met the flat mountain floor and formed a hill country not unlike those that surrounded Imladris or Mithlond, though here the hills were not covered in grass or deep cool earth but by red sand and thorn-ed bushes. Soon as they walked a rugged road made crudely by mortal steps, they came to a place surrounded by tall hills, an obvious vantage point for defense, and a place that made the elf's spine twinge with a certain dread, Thingalad himself became ill at ease with the situation, for beneath his hands Celebrin could feel the muscles of the beast tense and the breathing become more and more rapid.

Cidrhali led their train, she bore a semblance of confidence and joy as though she were a warrior bringing home a fabled army under her command, a look that Celebrin had never seen before in a woman among men, save Galadriel when she arrived into Lorien with her following of Noldor, or so an elf described to him one night as his small band slept beneath the shadow of Orodruin, an age ago it seemed, before sorrow assailed his life. Celebrin smiled shyly when she looked back at him, though through his mind warning signs flowed, the birds became quiet, the ground itself spoke that they were not alone, and the trust of this Tal-ano was too easily gained and still his eyes spoke of mistrust, though the pleas of his sister calmed his fears. As Alatar came close beside him Celebrin spoke his peace in a hushed voice that only the ears of elves could hear,

"This I trust little…the earth around us speaks of…a warning, it seems too easy a passage to a hidden realm of men opposed to the Darkness that resides in the South."

"But what choice do we have Master Uial? Alone we cannot stand against the power we faced three days hence…We need all the aid we can attain…even if it must be garnered under suspicion."

"It is not suspicion that I worry about…I feel a trap…"

It was then that Tal-ano ceased his trek, his hand quickly was laid upon the hilt of his curved blade and, as he drew it from its resting place, from the shadows stepped men of dark complexion, dressed in similar garb as he, robes of sable and a covering upon their faces, revealing only their fierce, deeply hued eyes. The sable horse of Cidhrali reared as three stepped before her branding swords that shimmered silver in the amber of the moonrise. As if from the very shadows figures descended from the rocky hills around them holding arrows poised for firing, Celebrin's eyes flared with rage at this treachery, yet as he looked upon Cidhrali she bore his same anger in her heart, though there was a sadness there as well; from her breast came a voice filled with an ancient anger,

"What is this? What madness has come over you Tal-ano!"

" No madness has come over me sister, it is the one that has come over you that I do indeed fear…"

His voice was not authoritative but seemed to be on the verge of tears as though holding a sword to his own blood filled him with such dread and self-loathing, a sign that made Celebrin cease his movement to reach for Lin-gladaear, the two elder men also lay their staffs at their hips, for though betrayal was a working of the Dark One and his minions, regret and loving fear were emotions the Dark powers could not touch, or so the wise say. From their steeds Celebrin, Alatar and Pallando were ushered into the midst of the band dressed in sable black. Their eyes were fierce and from their mouths came cruel words as their rough and violent hands forced their captive's own into bonds of rough rope and thorny sinew. Cidrhali alone was spared the rough treatment as she was bound by her brother's caring yet firm hands, they spoke strange words in a tongue varying from the one Celebrin had learned; Alatar winced in pain and spoke in a whisper to Pallando words that Celebrin could faintly hear, for they spoke in the tongue of the West, one that he had heard only once in his life, yet like to all tongues it shared some things which were not foreign to those that he did know, and from their hurried words he found one that struck deep into his memory as though it was not of his own but of one farther into his past, before he even laid eyes upon the stars.

A blind was placed upon his eyes as a shout of authority came from the man called Tal-ano,

"We have showed them mercy because of my love for you…do not tempt this matter further…the council will decide their fate and your crime in bringing them this far, as well as mine for sparing their life."

Celebrin, Alatar and Pallando were placed upon foreign horses or so it seemed for the build seemed different than the ones they had been riding for two weeks in the desert since they began their journey from Lorien. Surrounded in that forced darkness Celebrin heard the sounds of the wild around them the call of the night owl and of the swaying of limbs in the wind which also flew through the stones with a dreadful hollow whistle so low it reverberated in the bones of all living things. The cracking of twigs beneath feet and the rustling of small rocks upon pathways filled the silent, long and seeming lonely night. A memory raced through his mind as the sounds of the wilderness became familiar to him and the feeling of forced blindness filled his heart with a dread for the unseen and unexpected,

_Darkness surrounded him then as it did now, for he had worn a blind then though he was young, a step brought with it a sudden crack that pulsated through his ears, his voice, shuddering in fear, followed,_

_"Ada? I'm scared…take it off."_

_No sound followed in reply, fear took his young heart as the sounds of the forest of Nan Elmoth surrounded him, gone were the songs of the nightingales that once lived there, and Menegroth lay miles away, his heart beat faster as silence told him no aid would be coming from the father he came with. A sound came to him, though he knew not if it was through his ears or the inner recesses of his mind, yet the voice which came to him bore his father's voice._

_"You cannot see all things at once, Celebrin, in battle, there may come a time when you will not see and all that will be left you is the sound in your ears, the wind upon your skin, and the blood rushing through your heart…now be silent and pay attention!"_

_The young elf nodded and gripped the handle of his bow tightly in his hand as the sounds of the dark and lightless wood enveloped tightly around him again. He heard the footsteps of his father depart where they were, he would have called for him to return but he knew it would only mean another lecture…another look of worry from his father's peers… another reason that Uial's son spent too much time with his mother in the safety of Menegroth while his father rode the wilderness.- _

_A calm fell over him then as though he were immersed in water and all sound left his ears, and were only faint mummers of the world he once knew, fear almost left him until completely unexpected a sound came toward him, inhuman it seemed as though it were barely clinging to the life of the world, a growl that sent shivers through his entire being. He called to his father yet no sound came in response, the growl came closer and grew more menacing and the sounds of the wood around him filled with an intense dread as the birds and trees told him to flee. He would have reached to rip the blind from his eyes but fear kept him planted where he stood, gurgling, gaping, hollow sounds grew louder as the poundig of great claws paced the ground. Yet he stood still as his trembling hands drew an arrow to the bow and pointed it in the direction of the growling. He heard the sound of the arrow fly from the quivering bow yet the sound of sharpened point hitting the trunk of a tree filled his ears- a guttural, choking,sound came from before him as though filled with an anger or a rage beyond his comprehension and yet it seemed then to laugh and mock him. As his hand moved to obtain another arrow he felt a great weight push him to the ground as a cry was thrown from his mouth; he felt the heat of the beast in the darkness, and could hear the moans of rage and anger bellow from the recesses of the creatures body. An unearthly flame burned at his face, and through the blind a light came to his eyes, and it seemed then that he looked at the very light of the stars undimmed and it brought him peace for a little while. A tearing feeling went through his body, severing the peace of his mind,as his arm was aflame with what felt like thousands of piercing arrows each one piercing deeper and deeper into him. A great cry went from his mouth, a broke into silence as before him the light that was once beautifuland inspiring became a great flameburning all that surrounded it. All he knew then was fear, anger, and pain and yet was powerless to do anything as the jaw of the beast release the arm that gaurded his neck and left it limp upon the floor.A dark and violent voice came from within the creature's growl as though it screamed in pain, itsvery lungs consumed into ash, a cry went from the creature as the sound of horns andarrows entered the young elf's ears; in the distance he heard the cries ofhis father, inhuman as the beast that weighed him to the ground with its tearing claws, filled with sorrow and agony..._

The memory left him as quickly as it had come when a voice familiar to him as Tal-ano came into his ears; the fragments of that one night reverberated as fleeting images of his father looking at him, his hands covered in blood and tears falling down his face. The voice of the mortal was quick and direct, it was clear he was the person being spoken to,

"You should know stranger that the love I bear for my sister will overcome the passion with which she guards all of you…For stealing her you will indeed die, this I am sure of."

"If you bear so great a love for your sister why do you not trust her?"

Pallando's voice came from behind them, its smooth liquid quality was laced with an anger that sounded like the rushing of a river after a rain makes it over flow its boundries. The man Tal-ano replied with like courtesy,

"Trust is not something you servants of the dark one are accustomed to knowing… I trust her, though her choice in companions are not to my liking and against the laws of her people…"

The sound of hoof beats raced away, and Celebrin was left in thought, he knew from his own private thoughts that they were allowed upon horse back so that no feeling of road or wilderness would be left for them to remember, or to know of their wherabouts, tactics all people in hidden places knew, regardless of what side of Ennor they were from. For sometime they traveled in this way taking winding roads, the air grew crisper and colder, and then descended again, to the ears of the elf came to sound of birds awakening, as the dawn could be felt upon his face, the sound of a distant drum greeted the morning. They had stopped, no music greeted them, for no welcome would they find there, amidst the people who lived in the land of distrust, a fruit of the seed of evil The Dark Lords Sauron and Morgoth had sewn in the East, while the elves and other men busied themselves in the West.

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_The flashback- For those curious as to the events surrounding the flashback they take place in the Time of Luthien and Beren's courtship, when the Great Wolf, Carcharoth broke through the girdle of Melian and terrorized Doriath whilst being burned on the inside by the Silmaril. _


	12. The forgotten

_I realize it has been a while since my last chapter, but my muse is trying ever so hard to return to me. I really appreciate any review that is given to me and would like to thanks those who have reviewed. Please do not be afriad to write a critique, of what you think of it, good or bad, right now all i really have to go one is my own mind, which as most know can be misleading. thank you again. _

_Side note: The time period in which this takes place i realize has become rather skewed, with the little mentioning of dates that i have inideed placed within it. Sufficive to say it has been many months since the Trio left the shores of the sea of rhun, though I know it doesnt seem like that, for this ambiguity I am sorry. _

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When the blind was taken from Celebrin's eyes the first sight that came to his eyes was the amber of a large campfire that stood before them; shadows stood before it, hiding faces amidst silhouetted figures, all of which were smaller than the men the elf had come to know in the west, even among the wild men near Thranduil's realm- in truth a man of Numenor would seem as a giant to these cousins of men. It was then that he truly realized how small in stature the man Tal-ano, was compared to him, though in their arms and legs lay a hidden strength, one forged by years of labor, forced or not. Yet even so the eyes of the Eluwaith are seldom tricked by shadowed disguise and through the silhouette he gazed upon ancient faces, 20 in all, some were or seemed as old as Alatar and Pallando, some younger in years and some older, yet each bore upon their faces that same nobility that Cidhrali bore in her eyes. They rose when the intruders were brought forth, still bound, by their uncouth captors; Tal-ano stood before them and placed his hand over his heart as his head gently bowed with an inborn grace, though his brow and features were rough and unmoving. In the tongue which Cidhrali taught them the man spoke to the elders who had by this time sat in a half circle with the fire behind them. The other half of this circle was formed by Tal-ano's men, each with sword drawn or bow fitted tightly in hand- they stood while the elders sat upon the ground, feet crossed almost in a meditative state. Forced to their knees, Alatar and Pallando winced in pain for though they bore a strength within them a weariness still resided from their elderly forms, Celebrin was placed behind them and Cidhrali before, beside the feet of her brother. She was allowed to sit as the elders, yet her hands were still bound- by each captive a guard was also placed, with a rough stone dagger drawn. At first there was silence, for it seemed that each elder took his turn to inspect each prisoner, taking in the color and form of their garb, the story of their eyes and the weaponry that was placed before them.

Tal-ano stood beside his sister his hands held firmly behind his straightened back, his stance firm and yet yielding, like a slender tree; he stood thus in silence until one of the elders spoke, with a voice hale and wise almost in a hearthy whisper, like the crack of dying embers, which came from one end of the dark circle. The ancient man spoke in what seemed to be the common tongue among these people, with a thick accent of another similarly husky language that remained hidden behind his mind's eye, unlearned he seemed in the common tongue, yet it came to Celebrin's mind that he spoke in such a broken manner because his own native one was of different form than that which he had learned.

"Tricked are my ancient eyes…A sister do I see, bound in rope, blood against blood young Tal-anoku?"

Tal-ano's face wore certain uneasiness; as he took in the question he looked at a tall figure among the seated elders, one whose face was as one made of stone; rather than address the answer toward the ancient man he spoke to this shadowed figure, whose hair blew calmly in the night breeze,

"For my part there is no strife between us, Chief Andinawnku, yet I fear for my sister's well being…my love for her has forced my firm hand…I fear these intruders have taken her mind…and possessed her soul."

"And why would you think that?"

The question came from the voice of an ancient woman who sat behind an elder, tending the hearth it seemed, others turned to face her and hear the words she was to speak, she wore a white feather in her gray hair and carried a staff of sorts, from which hung gourds that rattled as she spoke for with her words came gentle and musical gestures made by her gnarled hands. She seemed to be the only woman at that gathered assembly and her eyes moved more than her hands and for a time they remained at a place, when she spoke her eyes went forth to Celebrin, who looked at her with his own sea-gray eyes, she smiled and continued her questioning,

"Her spirit is strong against the darkness, though she is young…"

"Have you not seen what she has done, Jzathi-ma-ala? She has brought strangers, intruders into our lands…threatened the peace of our people…it is clear she is taken by darkness."

These rash words came from one of the younger of these cheiftans, his eyes were uncommonly redish in the firelight, and his skin, though lighter and fairer than the others was flushed with an inborn fire, his lips were firm and ungiving and his voice was as harsh as the words he used each one hardened with a violent ending. The ancient woman rose with little effort from her place beside the fire and glided into the circle, it was then that Celebirn could see her greater detail, for she wore deer skins in the form of a long skirt that were decorated with many colored beads, hues that the elf had never before seen. She walked toward Cidhrali who looked into the ancient woman's eyes, worry was worn upon her face though the woman's bore the semblance of knowledge, the comfort of assurance. She turned to the other chieftan and with a firm voice, she said in a tone most befitting a queen among men, similar to Cidhrali herself, yet it bore a sense of humility as well…

"This I shall decide for myself, Chief Kwetalku …The Time has come for us to question these intruders, Tal-ano, do they speak our tongue?"

"One among them speaks it well, the older men speak it little…"

The one called Kwetalku silenced himself, he bore a face of being ill at ease as the sun rose from over the rocky hills, it was then that Celebrin and the others could see more clearly the garb that each elder wore. Each one's garb was different from the other, though many were in similar clothing to that of the guards. Ten wore the same robes as Tal-ano and his men, yet among them were different colors of brown, black, and sable blue. Their heads were adorned in different styles, and yet none wore a crown of gold or precious stone and metal, instead all wore feathers or beads in braided hair, each telling the signs of their stature. Celebrin's eyes were brought to one figure in the middle of the circle, who spoke no words as the others discussed in a hushed din of many tongues and foreign sounds. In age he was less than many there, yet he alone bore a large "crown" of feathers upon his brow, larger and more ornate than any other of these chieftains. His face was girm and he spoke to none, his glare was directed stoically at Cidrhali, who seemed to be in pain at his stare- it was clear then, who this man was and why he had chosen not to speak- it was at that moment that Celebrin feared his words, for silent is the tongue that will lead to doom.

This silent man stood, never taking his eyes from Cidhrali, nor even allowing emotion to enter his dark face, all grew silent at this motion as words, hale, wise and filled with a subdued anger came from his mouth,

"The sun rises, and soon our people will arise as well, we should not allow them to see this spectacle, for it will bring worry to their hearts…To the council hall we shall take them…and question them individually."

The time for debate had ended, all the others stood from where they sat and followed this one man, all save the woman called Jzathi-ma-ala, she merely stood as Tal-ano and his men forced the two elderly men and Celebrin to stand while Cidhrali was escorted to follow the chieftains and their train. She turned to gaze back at them, her face wore the very eyes of fear and courage, her face framed by her sable hair was wild with defiance, and a spirit, hallow, ancient and as strong as the waters of Sirion, the lost, lay within her eyes as she gazed longingly and almost apologetically at the men who stood bound because of her actions. Tal-ano turned to the three captives and spoke words to his men,

"Follow me…"

And away from the camp-site were the prisoners taken, they climbed over small rocky hills, littered with small bushes that let free small ancient fragrances as their leave were crushed beneath their feet. They walked in the rising sun and sweat beaded their brow as the heat of the new morning quickly turned from bearable to staggering in less than an hour's time. They came at last to a tall rock, almost a great hill in size save for the fact that it was made of solid red stone. Now in girth it was as large as any tower of the Numenoreans, and thus was a large feature upon the landscape, however it was a tower untouched by human hands save for the carving of the steps to its flat pinnacle, the sides were rough and unyielding and was in appearance similar to the roughness of a pine's trunk. The pinnacle was smooth to the touch, made so by centuries of wind and rain, in the midst of the wide circular surface was carved into it a hearth of sorts, a fire among the heavens, surrounded by three large and unmovable stones. Ash did not fly in the heated wind, for it had been a long time since anyone had need of fire upon that pinnacle; standing atop that ruddy stone tower one could see a vast hilly country, barren of life save near a small river that began where the mountain touched the hill country and ran through the desert to a valley where scattered primative homes stood and where people began to awaken and appear as small figures no biger than the size of a thumb. Tal-ano led the troupe up the steps to the top of that tower, and in silence they ascended that lonely tower in the midst of the barren landscape; Alatar and Pallando went first and Celebrin last, each one followed by a single guard, while the others remained upon the ground, arrows drawn and ready to shoot any who dared escape as futile as it was climbing those narrow steps of the red rock tower.

When all had climbed the steps, each prisoner was forced to sit around the campfire, their eyes facing the vast wilderness; Tal-ano nodded toward one of the guards who took the guiding rope of each prisoner and tied it to three large stones that surrounded the hearth fire, with his arms stratched behind him, hugging the stone in a backward embrace Celebrin winced, for the scars of his encounter with Khamul took a tol upon his body, as he was sure it did with Cirdhali, though both it seemed were to proud to admit any sort of defeat at such vile hands. Tal-ano knelt by Celebrin as the guard was tying his hands, he looked for a time at his face, fair seeming, and yet even now burnt little by the sun, the sickle-shaped scar blending into the browning skin. The rough hands of the man took him by the chin so that this image was better seen by his piercing mortal eyes, to which his voice spoke a silent thought that was intended, at least consciously to be hidden,

"So beautiful a face…the eyes are filled with spirits."

And for a brief moment the hard exterior of Tal-ano disappeared and his eyes were soft as Cidhrali's were when she looked at the stars, and with a cough the man stood and with a silent signal ordered a guard to stand watch, as the sun rose from the farthest reaches of the east. Celebrin then faced the rising sun and in truth it brought a certain blinding light to his eyes, and it was then he wondered, if the tales were true, was the sun flown by one of Melian's kin? And if so, why had the powers forgotten to love so sorrowful and enslaved a people… Were they the Eluwaith of this land, and of the mortal kindred?

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_**Tal-anoku-** the addition of the ku ending is meant as a dialectic one; in this case the ku ending indicates gender, it has no precidence in any human language that i am aware of other than in spanish which has the genderization of names (maria/mario). this is meant only to create a sense of difference among the tribes and their chieftains._

_**Andinawnku**_- _Antinanko- eagle of the sun- Mapuche_ _indian name_

_**Jzathi-ma-ala**_ _-Jaci-maiala- Moon wise- tupi indian_

_**Kwetalku-** Quidal- burning torch- Mapuche indian_

_Eluwaith- people of Elu Thingol_


	13. Before the council

_Forgive the unsteady flow of these chapters, they are coming as the story comes to me. I thank those of you who have been reviewing these stories and ask those who have been reading them and yet have not reviews to please do so, I am interested to know how you feel about the narrative, even if you don't approve._

_This new chapter is rather rough, and sketchy. and is mostly a means of getting to a certain point._

* * *

The hours passed as the cloudless sky lets down a rain of sunlit fire, drops of sweat poured down Celebrin's neck as his mouth grew dry with little effort. With each passing period of hours, three to be exact, a new guard climbed to the precipice of that towering rock and relieved his comrade, few of them gave a drink of water to their captives, though Celebrin refused almost all of it, saying only to give more to the old men, for he knew then that the power from these wise travelers from beyond the west lay in their words and the strange sound therein. Though his tongue grew dry and foam lay thickly in his mouth, his mind stayed far from his bodily weariness and entered rather into the realm of dreams, where the minds of the elder race go, when the body rests. Twice the man called Tal-ano climbed the steps of that rock, once at midday and again as the sun began its descent behind the mountains of red, and each time a prisoner was taken and never returned, the first was Alatar and the second was Pallando…and as the hourse passed Celebrin knew he was intended for the last, as he had the greater grasp of their captor's language than the ancient men did. Thus was he set to wait, gazing out toward the east taking in the vastness of the land where the sun rose and it seemed touched the earth itself. The lay of that land was similar to the western side where they had been ambushed, rocky hills and low lying dry vales where tears of land showed the tell tale signs of a river bed. Miles apart lay small patches of gray shrubbery, as the red sand engulfed it in the winds. In the distance with his elven eyes he saw a storm approaching; black, columnus clouds dwarfed the mountains in their majesty, and he could see the flashes of lightning bursting from the darkness to strike the ground- and then he hoped, as he had once hoped in the land of Mordor that rain would bring new life to a barren land, for after the storm comes the gentle light.

The hours passed on with change coming slowly, save for the change of the guard, he heard them speak and from their lips learned newer words to replace the older ones. The wind of fire engulfed him as his eyes strained to keep their focus upon the actions and movements of the guard or the looks they threw his way. For suspicion and rumor had spread through their homeland, words of the earth spirits come again amongst their people as old women told tales to inquiring children of the people of the mountains, the Katchinai. And as the sun stood upon the midday he closed his eyes and heard a song in the wind unlike any he had ever heard before, for it was filled with a long begotten sorrow, so similar to the sound of the sea, and yet it spoke of violence, anger, hatred and above all things, a pining for ancient days. And there also lay a song of bittersweet joy, that reveled in the crackling sides of the mountains, the hollow rivers and lissome trees that yearned for rain to give them sustenance. A life was buried beneath the very sands, and it brought tears of awe to the ancient elf, for it was then that he felt the weight that age and weariness brings upon an elf who for thousands of years had walked the earth amongst his own people and he knew then the doom of Maglor and Daeron, the insurmountable fear of being alone. The face of Tal-ano entered his eyes with the splashing of water upon his wind burned face; he looked around to where he was, empty were the other stones of the ancient men that once were propped against them. He was forced from his place and stood tall against the man, whose harsh and flint-like face spoke of no emotion other than duty, though within him lay a silent seed of…sorrow? It took Celebrin by surprise to feel sorrow from this man; even though hard unmoving words came from him,

"It is your turn to speak with the council…"

And with that Celebrin was forced down the narrow steps and away from the red tower of rock, over the hills of dirt and dry vegetation and through back ways to a hall like structure built in the manner of a tent. A cool breeze now flew through that valley and made the earthen tent-hall billow and made it seem as though it was indeed alive. Rude symbols covered it, for it was not decorated as the wildmen of Rhovanion with vines of green or blue encircling it while diverging like river, instead these symbols ran and stampeded across the landscape of that billowing hall.

From it came a smell of ancient herbs, few he remembered though similar to the taste upon his mouth lay the scent of _thingolodh _and _thonlas _yet they smelled drier than that which was found in Rhovannion, or in the land of the Laiquendi east of the Hithaeglir. As they left the world of oncoming night the light of a hearth fire filled the room in an amber light, the same elders sat surrounding the fire only now others were with them, women of similar ages to their counterparts, hale were their eyes and each one looked at him directly into his own, some looked surprised by what they saw, others grew fearful and few looked unmoved saved by a slender smile breaking their cool exterior. Hard to his knees he was thrown as the ancient faces of those men looked upon him in judgment, and he remembered the seat of judgment in Mithlond, made of dark gray stone facing the sea as if the one who sat upon there sought judgment from the forgotten west rather than from his own mind and thought. He disliked the trials there and in Imladris when his Lord and Lady held sway, before being "asked" to leave; judgment he left in others care, him preferring to pass by undetected by those who would either see him rise or fall at their word. Yet now he had no such choice, now he sat in judgment, not behind the throne but before it, now he would not be asked for counsel but seek it himself, a position no elf enjoyed, the Teleri especially, whom the Goldo called _Ondantar,_ the stubborn people. The chilling eyes of that same middle chieftain pierced his flesh, a surprise trait he did not expect to find among the mortals forgotten by the Powers, yet even so many of the Eglath bore such eyes that saw beyond flesh, beyond masks of fear and doubt…in Doriath no secret was kept, and no lie untold…until its fall.

This man with the piercing eyes and large ornate wild crown frowned upon his arrival, though his all piercing eyes bore a grief upon them, the grief of a father who had lost the child of his loins, the daughter of his youth, this face Celebrin knew well, Aran Thingol bore it when Luthien left the path of the Eldar, the Lord Celeborn bore it, in Imladris so long ago. And he spoke, in a voice hale and filled with wisdom that befitted his ancient warrior appearance,

"Much we have heard of you…U-elhku…your tongue is foreign in our mouths, your face pale as the face of the moon. Though you seem beautiful, you bear danger with you…Tell us why should we give mercy to you."

Silent Celebrin sat, looking into the gaze of the man, who now stood as though his captive's silence was an attack upon his honor; he stood tall above all and his elcerly frame shook not as old men do, but as a cypress bends in the wind of a storm from the sea, and his voice rose to a shout, and a rage was born in it that shook the room and made the fire itself quiver,

"Speak, for it is known to us that you speak our tongue! Or do you seek the judgment that we hand down to you!"

"Why defend? When you have already condemned me uselessly? I have already been condemned…not by you or your council, but by the actions that drove me to this place, by the past I left behind…You have no power over me, chieftain of men, and though you think I am…a thief, Your daughter's mind I do not have sway over… for none can sway her mind."

The words of this foreign tongue came slowly yet with strength from his mouth, and the eyes of many were filled with wonder that the stranger had knowledge of things beyond the seeing of eyes, for no mention of the blood between the chieftain and Cidhrali was made, save by eyes and the open thoughts of unspoken words. The man called Kwetalku, rose in anger at this and spoke to the council though his words were directed at he who stood in the midst of the circle,

"What further proof do we need of this man's enchantment, he knows that-which has-not-been-said, and presumes that WE have no power over him…who other than a dark one could do such things!"

"Seat yourself Kwetalku! I am not finished with this…man."

Kwetalku hardened his face and sat, his fire filled eyes glaring forth at Celebrin, a rage sitting beneath his breast, and his light face turning red with obvious anger. The high chieftain walked a pace and stood before Celebrin, upon his knees, before continuing to the back of the circle and with a movement fit for a man half his age he took from Tal-ano's belt a dagger of shimmering iron and brought it to the neck of Celebrin, yet the elf did not move as the blade cut slightly into his skin, forcing a small river of blood from the flesh wound. The man spoke then, taking the weapon from his captive's neck and throwing it to the ground,

"You do not fear death…why is that U-elhku? For even the dark one's servants know well of death…they fear it, everyday of their lives…"

His voice became a whisper as though the interrogation was meant solely for him, and as he paced the eyes of all followed him, wondering in their silent way how one, who for the entirety of the day remained silent, asked such a thing of one who was bound for a judgment of doom…

"I have known much death, and my life has been nothing but the death of all I love…What is there more to fear, when night is your constant companion? When family and homeland banish you with the joy that lives in them, when betrayal… and loss, make home a land of enemies and stone. "

Celebrin spoke also in a whisper, his voice showing some semblance of sorrow until the end of his speech when the mind of the elf forgot he stood in the den of men whose tongue differed from his own and spoke instead in the tongue of his people; the man turned to face him and he wore a gaze of wonder at the simple words of this one, whom he thought of as little as a minion, whose very tongue sounded as the river in the season of rain…

Then a burst of sound entered the room as a shout went forth from the entrance of the hall, the war cry of Cidrhali,

" Azjiday! Stop this!"

The chieftain seemed to pare himself for battle as the woman placed a firm foundation beneath her feet. Like an battlement of stone she stood, a dark tower with a sable banner, the glare of her eyes like the cold rock of the cliff that jutted out into sea, broken pieces of the firm land of Beleriand still clinging to life above the sundering sea. His voice opened to speak yet the blow of a horn and the cry of women entered that hall, and all looked toward the doorway, where the black, sable night turned to blazing red and the smell of smoke disturbed the ancient fragrance of the burning herbs. The man's cold face tuned to Celebrin, anger now resided in his brow and his chest heaved a great breath before a hand of rage came down unexpectedly to strike the elf across the face, causing the scar of his childhood to bleed again, the force of which toppled the elf to the ground and his face met the cold rock of the desert floor. Cidhrali cried out in defiance yet was silence as the raging voice of her father spoke,

"Do you still trust him now daughter? War is upon us and you have caused it!"

It was then that the passageway of the hall was thrust open and there stood the silhouette of a man, wreathed in flame, whose coal, black eyes glinted coldly in the fire light both withing and without the hall. The guards drew their swords, yet a small force of men, dressed in dull black, followed this man and they bore the symbol of a red serpent embroidered upon their regalia also. Gold shimmered upon their hands in the form of cruel rings and from their faces bone protruded earlobe and lip. The intruder smiled, and in his hand he held a curved blade of iron already stained with blood, and from his cruel lips came a voice barely hanging on to humanity,

"Greetings my brethren, the Lord Khamul sends his well wishes…"

* * *

_**Azjiday-** Shize'e- Navajo for father- while Cidhrali's name is Nauhtl in origin there are common roots between Nauhtl and Navajo as being Uto-Aztecan languages. _

_**Khamul-** a ringwraith of Sauron's also called Shadow of the East. _

_**U-elhku**- a modified version of the name Uial, not transliterated as those using it have no idea what it is meant to mean. _

_**Thingolodh- **grey-wisdom- "sindarin" for sage, sage was used in many ancient religions to ward off evil and bring wisdom, I thought it appropriate._

_**thonlas** - pine leaf- literally pine needles, used in tribal medicine to cleanse areas of meeting, or ceremonial places. Both herbs mentioned above do have their westerncounterparts used for similar methods so it is not unnatural to think that Celebrin would have known the scent of these herbs._

_**Ondantar**- Quenya for 'stone-face', meant tomean stubborn and emotionless.TheTeleri, a hardened people by their life in Ennor, without the safety of Aman, I feel would nothave been so willing to showany sign ofemotion during interrogation. I use aQuenya word since they obviously would have seen such behavior as normal or integral to survival, as opposed to the Noldor, who hadthe power of speech and would have expected those accused of something to defend themselves, rather than remain silent._


	14. Unexpected reunion

_terribly sorry for the delay in the posting of this chapter. I was just looking at the stats for this story and apparentlyIve lost readers, but no matter, theyre only numbers. But seriously, those who have somewhat enjoyed this story please review, even if you think im butchering Tolkien's work. _

_Not my best work, but i swear it will get better. _

* * *

A red glare entered the hall and all eyes were turned to this cruel man in black, and for what seemed like hours silence filled the room. The intruder moved forward and more of his lackeys entered similarly dressed in pitch black robes emblazoned with the red serpent, the jingle of heavy gold necklaces and jewelry made a discordant din in the tent-hall; some bore captured men, others forced the wounded to the ground, spilling blood upon the earth. The hoarse and hallow voice of their supposed leader spoke, it was clear to a trained ear that the tongue he spoke was of similar origin with that of Cidrhali and her people, though the harshness of his demeanor left his mouth and lay upon the sounds Cidhrali made soft and fluid.

"You and your brigands have gotten soft, Tal-anoku. It was easy to follow you after the Red Horn Pass, you should have known better than to choose so open a pathway, my brother. Ahh Cidhrali, how you have grown! Ripe enough to wed and bear children yet?"

His harsh laughter left his lips as he moved forward to grasp the hem of Cidhrlali's skirt; the woman moved as nimbly as she had done that day of the windstorm when she held _Lin-galadaer_ in her hand defiantly against a shadow. This elicited cruel laughter from the other men, who with a certain confidence and brashness lay their swords low, pointed to the ground. No guard of Cidhrali's people moved to defend themselves for in truth they were outnumbered and at a disadvantage since the intruders had their swords drawn and the guards save Tal-ano were sheathed.

Celebrin struggled to sit upright and felt a gentle, ancient hand grasp his arm, helping him to his knees, the woman smelled of _Thingolod _and of a smell similar to a rose, this was Jzathi-ma-ala the ancient hearth woman. A blade also Celebrin felt in the small of his back, and confusion took his mind until he felt her methodical cutting of the twine rope that held his hands in a merciless bondage. When his hands were free the hilt of the small dagger was left in his hands, he turned his head to see out of the corner of his eye but the ancient figure of the woman sat still a few feet away, as though she had never moved at all.

Two guards entered in the midst of the laughter, their faces covered revealing only their auburn eyes glistening red in the firelight, before them they forced Pallando and Alatar into the tent-hall saying in a harsh and cutted tone,

"These we found bound in the chieftains tent…they are the ones Khamul wants."

The cruel man smiled and gold teeth refracted light in every direction as his wide grin reached, inhumanly, to his ears. Celebrin could see a certain likeness in the face of the Chieftain and this man, he wondered then as the back of his mind found some way to free his comrades if they in truth were related by blood. The task of freedom would not be easy, held as captives by one and as outlaws by others, both of these fates seemed liable to end in death…his gaze went to Cidhrali who looked at him from her position, he knew she was planning something in her mind, her eyes moved around as though they were deer running from a predator, she nodded in his direction as the cruel man moved closer to her father.

"It is good to know you are worth something Kwaretgua. Even your goat herders can catch those who eluded the shadow…perhaps your village will not burn further…"

The ancient man spoke,

"If it is a deal you wish to make Tohopka you should speak to the council, we are equals here, even the exiled."

"You call me by that name father?"

"It is your name…I cannot change that."

The cruel man looked thoughtfully into the fire as Cidhrali motioned to stand behind her father, silently her steps moved, yet not unnoticed for the man whom the Chieftain called Tohopka drew his curved blade up and pointed its sharpened edge toward the neck of the old man. His head shook and his cruel and confident smile returned to his face, gold teeth and all,

"Clever you have become sister…Take the prisoners to the horses! Leave the goat herders be! It is…their reward."

The soldiers who brought Pallando and Alatar in gave them to other men and moved forward to their leader, their gait was unsteady, as though they were bent from some unknown pain, it was a walk Celebrin knew well and under his breath he growled one word that was heard by the woman Jzathi-ma-ala,

"Yrch…"

When they came to the side of their leader they spoke in voices harsh and alien to all respectable things that lived upon the earth,

"You promised us fresh meat and slaves, and none you let us take! Khamul will not be glad about this…no indeed."

"Then take two of the children, I care not, only that they be an easy load."

Came the reply as inhumane as the very rocks of that desert land, a tone that set fire to the breast of Tal-ano, so much so that, despite being guarded by two men he burst forth and drew his sword to the bent men hidden in the mask and with one fell swipe of his moon carved blade severed the head of one, whose squeal was released into the night air. This elicited a laugh from the dark captain as he turned to exit the doorway where numerous squeals and growls permeated the air, a sign of their unearthly anger. The other of the pair snarled as his comrade fell to the ground and his head rolled near the fire, he drew a scimitar of pounded iron and flung himself to cut at the man, yet his blow was made fruitless as was his life, which ended by that same blade.

Celebrin at this time arose and ran toward the intruders who grasped hold of his companions and with that small, rugged blade of stone sliced their throats with the skill he had been long loathed to learn as a youth. For a small instant there was a semblance of calm as the man called Tohopka stood in the doorway surrounded by his men, staring at the blood of the masked men who now lay dead upon the floor of that tent-hall. A smirk came to his face, as though it brought him joy to see blood flowing upon the earth; his men, seeing their comrades slain so quickly, drew their swords quickly to pare for battle, yet their commander's ring-clad hand ordered them to cease their attack.

The howls of unearthly creatures began to fill the air, and silent were all the voices of men; the lips of Tohopka's men began to curl into a sign of fearful glee. The elf's ears pricked as the sound of those creatures came closer and began to surround the tent-hall; the sound of arrows were heard in the din and the roof of the tent was lit aflame. As it quickly burned the intruders ran from where they stood, Celebrin heard the whine of horses and remember his own friend who he had left abandoned in a foreign country. He looked for the white steed in the chaos yet could not see that glimmer of nobility the steed took from his forbearers. All the chieftains and men fled the burning tent and were soon surrounded by what seemed to be hundreds of masked, bent figures, made more gruesome in the light of the burning village. At their head sat Tohopka upon a black horse, weighed by decadent bronze and gold, and who bore, painted in what one could only hope to be red paint, the symbol of that monstrous band, a red serpent. His voice cracked as he shouted,

"Forgive me father! Your son's actions have made your life forfeit; there is nothing I can do…"

Looking upon Celebrin, who stood beside Pallando and Alatar, he sneered and said,

"As for you, well, there was no sense in keeping you alive…Death would have been your fate…"

The man dared one last look upon the erect figure of the old chieftain, and a pain struck him deep in his heart it seemed, and in the tongue of Cirdhali he spoke in a voice that betrayed his confidence and smug exterior,

"May your death be quick…and painless."

And with that he turned and allowed the circle of scimitars and torch brands to encircle that small gathering of people; the cruel beings that surrounded them squealed as though they were swine, gleeful to enact revenge. One stood forth from the mass that gathered, he lifted a head into the air, the very severed head that lay by the hearth of the tent-hall; and in a voice that was a broken remnant of a once fair song shouted, and to the ear of the elf the word was familiar, though he had not heard it in many centuries,

Burzum-u thrakuluk!

And the sound of drums resounded in the elf's ears as the phalanx of snarling figures moved toward them; unmasked they became and the truth was indeed revealed that the elf had feared, for to his eyes came the familiar face of the orc.

* * *

_**Kwaretgua-** Qaletaqa-(Hopi) protector of the people_

_**Tohopka**- (Hopi)- Wild beast_

_**Burzum-u Thrakuluk**- Bring them all to darkness!- Actual words in black speech( not much is written about black speech so I gathered what I could and tried my best. What are Orcs doing in eastern Middle-earth? Well, Sauron and Morgoth must have had some way of controlling hteir empires, and what better minions than orcs, right?_


	15. In the West

_This chapter diverges from the Celebrin storyline, telling a subplot of the occurances in the West. These are somewhat used as a gauge for relevance of time but are also prevelant to the storyline. Enjoy this gentle tug at your attention as it is intended, and as always please review._

* * *

Gently fell the falls of the Bruinen as the shouts of adolescent elves filled the grand chambers of Imladris and one she-elf walked, smiling in her matronly joy at the jests of her only sons. They traipsed around the corridors as though they were in the wild, riding horses or some unknown activity that required space and ever-moving terrain. Carpenters and masons dashed for cover as the twin elves chased one another through the newly built guest quarters in the east of Elrond's house. Such a sight was not uncommon in those days, the Lord of Imladris had spent much to expand his household, and his city, for often from the west came many elves wishing for a more "civilized" existence, away from their rougher counterparts in the east. Silence was never an option, even then, so life went on, only a little louder when the twins were present and away from their studies.

The Lady of Imladris entered the Hall of Fire as others began to return to their homes, she bid them a soft farewell and sat beside a young maiden in scarlet garb, reading a book bound in green leather.

"What are you reading now, my dear?"

Said the lady, as the raven haired daughter turned the pages with a sense of reverence, though she was far older than the book before her. The musicality of her voice left her young lips as though they left a flute,

"Tis nothing mother…nothing but the same stories, the same…histories…"

"Ahh, you are reading the newest Erestor…Honestly Arwen, I know not why you read it if it bores you…"

"It does not bore me mother…it only…"

the young maiden twists her hands around the trinket that regally hung from her neck, guarding it with the same reverence that she did with the letters upon the pages of the book.

"It is only the same thing over and over, as though no one else has ever experienced the days of old…"

Celebrian looked upon her daughter with new eyes, she had never taken that young maiden to be dissatisfied with her husband's library collection, even if it was the largest west of Minas Tirith. Taking up her needlework the Lady of Imladris contemplated the thoughts her daughter raised in her mind; at birth she was raised to be both Teler and Noldo in mind and action, yet even so the signs of Daeron she seldom read and the garb of the Noldor she took upon her self most often. She spoke in reply,

"Arwen… it is true that few write of the elder days, even fewer wish to remember them…they were darker, filled with grief and doubt, why would you wish to hear of them?…"

"Because they were filled with light undimmed, worthy of song and heraldry, yet now we treat them as though we wish not to remember them, not to remember those who fell in battles and wars, those who loved with utmost passion and those…who had no gold or silver to their name."

"Common elves! Why would you ever wish to hear of their lot?"

This interjection came from Elladan who at this time ceased his playing with his twin; the twins of Celebrian found it easiest to dress in blue and green so that others could distinguish them apart. The eldest, Elladan, often wore blue embroidered with silver stars and vines of deep forest green; yet ever often he wore the green of his brother to confuse even his teachers. The younger, Elrohir, maintained this code to the chagrin of his more zestful elder, causing little mayhem in the sense of trickery, words were his plaything, not tricks of the eye. The young elleth turned to her brother and with a scowl upon her ivory face spoke in a voice that seemed as though she became insulted by his actions,

"They are not common…they live and breathe as we do…they have stories to tell, others wish not to read them and so they are forgotten!"

"Their stories are nothing to tell, that is why no one writes of them…they are in all accounts dull and not worth mentioning…"

And with that the elf maiden's hand flew across her brother's face and resounded throughout the chamber and for a small instant the hammering of the carpenters and masons ceased and then quickly returned to their work. The raven haired lady stood and, having thrown the book with another loud crash, thrust herself through the chamber not paying attention to the shocked cries of her mother, who shouted her daughter's name in vain.

With a scolding look thrust upon her son the Lady of Imladris stood to follow her youngest child yet was held back by the sound of a voice familiar to her,

"Lady Celebrian?"

She turned and with a frustrated tone upon her voice addressed the speaker,

"Forgive me Master Glorfindel, I cannot stay to discuss the vine growth upon the terraces again, if you seek council my husband is in his study."

"I dare say he is…"

The voice of the Lord of Imladris entered the halls surrounded by his counselors, the chief of which was Erestor, who bore a look of shock upon his face as the first thing he witnessed upon entering the Hall of Fire was his book being thrown in a fit of anger, almost landing upon the glimmering hearth that had yet to be relit by suitable fuel. He rushed to retrieve it and placed it firmly in his embrace, surrounded by the protective barrier his deep red robe provided. The Lord of Imladris walked to his wife and after greeting her spoke in a slight whisper,

"Is it her flows again?"

"Why must you assume it is her flows? Anger for an elleth is not the only sign of such things my love… Your chief counselor's books apparently were the culprit, that and your elder son's wild mouth."

The elf in question looked to his brother when the eyes of his father were directed toward him, no solace, however, was given by his younger sibling; and he rose to meet the disapproving gaze of his father, who in a silent voice scolded the youth,

"And what did you say?"

"Nothing…"

"I see…"

Deeply the Lord of Imladris looked upon his son until the ellon lowered his head and in the ear of his father reluctantly spoke the words he had uttered not but a few seconds ago. As father held council with his son the Lady slowly walked to where the Chief Counselor stood and opening her hands in a sign of pardon she spoke to the old, but proud elf.

"Dear Erestor, you must forgive my daughter's actions she is not feeling well and meant no harm to your work…I know they are a pride and joy to you, is it damaged at all?"

"Nay dear lady, naught but covered in soot and dust, nothing needing remedy."

As the chief counselor turned to return to his peers the golden haired Noldo of ancient fame remained beside the Lady, in a silent whisper they spoke; since he had arrived in Imladris he often took solace in the kindness of the Lady of Elrond's House, she being one of the few elves upon Middle-Earth who did not badger him with requests for tales from his former life, as a result she, ironically was given the most interesting of them.

"Be not worried about your daughter's temperament, I myself have wished to throw the counselor's works in the fire also from boredom, just to see them do something entertaining."

The chuckle of the lady lightened the mood that had fallen upon the Hall of Fire. She turned her head toward the corridor down which her daughter had escaped; the other held her back by stating in comforting words,

"Leave her be, it is often that young ellhyn wish to be by themselves in thought and to their own musings…She is of kind heart, there is little need to reprimand her…"

"This I know, friend…though I cannot help but worry about her…she is not as composed as I was at her age, of course I have not raised her as my own mother did me…"

"Why do you choose to do your needle work here in the quiet hall, when the other maids and their brood are eating their meals?"

"I suppose it oft reminds me of older times, my mother never enjoyed doing 'maiden's work', and so never became altogether good at it…keep this to yourself of course."

"Every word."

"She used to make Celebrin find her an isolated place to perform needlework and force me to sit and help her, knowing full well her maids would have to correct her if she did something wrong…she can hold together an entire city during war and peace, she can speak to dignitaries and kings and bring them to awe, but needle and thread are her undoing…I suppose it is good in that sense…I oft remember this one time when Celebrin built a talan for her in Lorien upon the highest of pines and she told him to build it upon the pinnacle so that only the birds could see her weaving…it took him five months but he actually did it…I wonder if it is still intact."

"Perhaps you should visit there, see your comrade and your parents again."

"My parents yes, but I doubt Celebrin is there…"

Her voice dropped to a tone of bitter sorrow, one that the golden-haired elf had hardly ever heard the lady use, and he would have asked her yet the exit of the twins took his attention and the Gentle Lord smiled little, a sign that he had just finished governing his two full-grown children. The Lady walked down to her husband and held a silent council with him, to the eyes of the Noldo, they seemed the most loving couple upon Ennor, similar to Tuor and Idril in their youth. He shook from his mind the thought of those ancient days and noticed a slender elf, in the garb of Lindon, one he had seen long ago at the shores of Mithlond, the elf nodded to him politely until Elrond bade him enter and from the slender elf came words that seemed cryptic and unforeseen to the Lord of Imladris,

"Gentle Lord and Lady of Imladris, I am Gildor Inglorion of Forlindon beneath the banner of Cullofea Helkatil, chiefregent of Cirdan Lord of Mithlond. I bear news from my lords concerning business for the ears of Elrond Peredhel alone."

Elrond a tad shaken by this sudden and official message from Cirdan, bid his counselors to leave them yet with a lilt of his eye bade Glorfindel stay and hear the message in full; authoritatively he bade the erect elf speak his message with his lady and chief captian present, the message the elf gave was in the speech of the Noldor, an odd thing for Cirdan of the Havens to send, considering his insistance on using the language of his own people in all communications, it followed thus,

"Elrond, dear friend and fellow lord among the elves in Ennor; I send word to you concerning news of utmost folly upon my part. Known to me is your personal wishes concerning the estate of the late High King of the Noldor, Erenion Gil-Galad; yet now it has come to me that such unforeseen artifacts of his familial estate remain and require you to acknowledge them and decide what is to be done of them. Again my utmost apologies and fair stars upon your home."

The face of Elrond became heavy with some unknown pain and Celebrian nodded for Glorfindel to escort the elf from the Hall of Fire. When the Lord and Lady of Imladris were at last alone one phrase left the mouth of Elrond,

"I thought it was over…how foolish of me to think so."

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_Cullofea Helkatil - minor character first introduced in the earlier chapters, full name means, red-spirit ice-horn. Chief regent of Forlindon is a made up position for the person to whom rule of the land of Forlindon fell after Gil-galad's death. _


	16. Fire and Foes

_Forgive my long departure from the updating of this tale, but with school and work my muse has left me for a little while but has at long last returned. This is a shortish chapter, though essential. Chapter 17 which is already completed lies in wait on my computer. We return to the east and leave the family of Elrond behind, though not forever. I apologize for my interpretation of them if it struck you as insulting or far from cannon, but believe me it gets better. As always read and review please. gratis_

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Fire surrounded them- so to did death at the edge of an iron scimitar- in that moment it did not matter who was prisoner or who was guard, only survival mattered. Tal-ano, lifted his sword and the unsheathing of curved steel resounded as the snarls of the creatures before them barked into the night sky. Oddly enough the shouts of women and children were not to be found. The small band of men was not completely surrounded, to their rear stood the burning tent-hall, which began to fall into ruin as fire ate the beams that supported it. The elder chieftains held forth their staves as though they were weapons capable of firing flames and lightning from the gourds that dangled from their tip. The elderly women also stood in defense, yet they drew small knives of stone or steel that were clasped to their belts. Between these few and the hoard of orcs stood the guards who had survived the intrusion each brandishing a curved blade or a tightly drawn bow, and one elf, holding in his hand the small knife of an old woman. The old men dressed in sea blue held a close converse with one another as the circle of cursed beasts inched toward them, rejoicing in the easy victory.

"There can be no victory this night Alatar, death will come to these men…"

"Have faith dear friend, hope will come…"

"How can that be so… How can you possibly consider that there is hope here… this is a cruel, dark world, and I fear I followed you into my own oblivion."

"Then leave, the road westward lies open to you still… All that remains for you is to but speak one word and you will leave this world behind…"

"You wish me to leave you in this peril? That I cannot do…"

"Well then, I suppose there is but one choice left to us…"

It was then that the face of Alatar shimmered as though the light of ancient day lay upon it, to the eyes of the elf who saw it the memory of Melian in her glory reverberated in his mind. From the sea-blue cloak the old man wore came his pearlescent hand wrapped around an object most curious, as it shone like the crecscent moon that hung low in the western sky. The colors of dawn tinted the surface and laces of silver, outlining a tree, traversed across its smooth and pearl-like body. To the lips of this shimmering man the horn was placed and time stood still. The intake of his breath, and the gentle note that first resounded spoke of ancient days in the minds of the elves and men, and then the music from that beautiful horn burst forth as though no words could describe it, in any tongue or way of speech of man, elf, or dwarf now or in the future of the world.

To the ears of the men it burst forth in one, long, sonorous note that shook the material of their bones and awoke the hearts of they who lay in a stupor of shock and hopelessness. To the elf sang it sang forth in a myriad of tunes, each one more glorious than the first, and in him awoke a gentle image of a large inland sea to the west of where he stood, beneath the stars that shone in the days before the sun. And to the cruel beasts that pushed forth the sound was dreadful and filled with threat and unknown fear. They stopped in their attack and looked all around them, believing they would see a vast army in any direction ready to come upon them in a fire of rage and furious contempt. Fear took their feet and from that small band they ran in every direction, even into the running waters of the river that cut through that land to their death. As the beasts fled the sound of the horn to the tear-filled eyes of Tal-ano came the sight of that cruel band of men led by their gold-laden captain. They too ceased their escape to hear the tune of that horn and fear was written upon their faces, yet as soon as it had faded from the existence of the world they too began to flee the terror that the fleeing orcs brought to their minds. For if such a thing caused fear in those callous hearts how could they too not be fearful of it.

Tal-ano, with courage in his breast shouted to the gold-laden captain,

"So, my brother, where lies your courage when your slaves run, and choose not to defend you! A coward you remain and a shame upon your family!"

Yet no word of reply came from that man, as he turned his horse and sped into the darkness of the late night; the man Tal-ano turned his back to the fleeing hoard of men and laid his eyes upon the seemingly tired form of the old man, whose weary limbs that once held a now vanished horn leant upon an elf for support. One of the old chieftains leant him his staff and knelt before him; Alatar with a look of worry upon his face made a motion with his hand for the man to rise, though the chieftain would not listen. It was then that the sound of an arrow entered Tal-ano's ear as it passed not but a few inches from his head. It was quickly followed by the sound of a young woman crying in pain, and the sight of Cidrhali falling to her knees as she held her pierced arm, nursing the pain. The man turned then and saw only the form of a man dressed in black flee into the darkness, and as the man began to run after it, the voice of his father came to him,

"Tal-ano! Now is not the time for vengence! Take heed of your people!"

And with a clenched fist the man turned and ran to the side of his sister whose wound was already being cared for by the medicine woman Jzathi-ma-ala. Celebrin, however, looked deep into the darkness where the man fled and noted the direction he went as far as his elf eyes could see. He then turned his attention to the wounded woman who had saved his life, and met her eyes as though she were watching him the entire time. She bore her pain well as the barbed arrow was pushed though her arm, keeping her ever lively eyes upon the elf as she gave to him an encouraging smile.

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_In case anyone was thrown by the action of the sequence the "horn" that Alatar used was none other than the Valaroma. Alatar and Pallando were Maia of Orome, whose famous horn brought fear to all the hearts of the servants of Sauron. _


	17. Rude Awakening

**_Here is the other part of the previous chapter which I decided to post seperatly, mostly because it made more sense that way. _**

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_Night surrounded him, yet the cries echoed through the land, and shouts came from the distant forest._

_"Noro lim! Noro lim na Menegroth!"_

_His sleeve was pulled as the strength of his mother fought against the adolescent need to fight; yet he had no sword, the time had now come for honor and valor without renown and he had no sword…_

_Menegroth was in sight, safety and refuge that had once protected them in the past, the dwarves could not penetrate it for weeks, they would fare less successful; the Prince stood at the archway of the large iron doors beckoning what seemed like thousands of refugees from the eastern lands into the warm embracing bosom of the thousand caves. A cry came from his mouth, _

_"Hurry! Uial! Get your men out of there! To the Caves!" _

_The paternal face of the child's father looked back at the sight of his family reaching the caves and to the eyes of his young son came a knowing smile that assured the youth of his will to live, hope was not gone…_

_The smell of blood was stifling in the caves, the cries of hundreds of widows echoed throughout and the smell of burning flesh filtered through the door that was still ushering in people from as far as Aelin Uial. The youth stood at the door with his mother as they watched the woods of Neldoreth burn in the distance to the North, the Hirilorn had fallen, succumbing to the flames of the hateful attack. And through his soot-covered eyes the youth saw his father still standing, silhouetted by the flames that engulfed their home. His band kept them at bay, while the forces of the Prince and the King led people into the caves and guarded their rear. Still the forces of Aelin Uial stood their ground and their captain fought on, and the youth cheered his father…then, as though time had ceased a sight most horrible came to his mind, an arrow, fired from behind the Noldorin flank struck the captain in the breast. And still he fought on, sword to sword with a Noldor captain; a man whose fire lit hair shimmered as the red of the volcanic flows that topped Thangorodrim. And in an instant, as though fate cared not for the heroism of minor elves born not of fame and fortune- the noble head of the captain was severed from his body, which fell to the ground and shook with tumultuous quakes. A cry went forth from beside him, as hope was lost…_

Startled from his sleep Celebrin awoke with a great cry and slashed at the air in front of him with an invisible and impotent dagger. Silence surrounded him and the sounds of the desert midnight filled the air as, in the distance a simple river flew through the sun-scarred land. A day had passed since he first came among these people, as a prisoner and thief, now, though less than a hero's welcome, he was not bound to a rock or a tree. This little blessing he received from one of his aged companions who seemed to hold more secrets than even he. Gasping for air from where he sat upon the floor, a shadow covered the light that strewed in from the outside, the beginnings of dawn.

"How long have you stood there?"

He said to the figure, who held her arm, protecting it from the very air that grew warm without sunlight or fire.

"I heard shouting…did you have a dream?"

"Dream is not the word for it…do you have a word for…a bad dream?"

"To us, all dreams are good…even if they frighten us."

"It was no dream…it was a memory"

The woman stepped forward and allowed light to enter; her hair was loosened and flowed with the wildness of Sirion yet with the darkness of the banner of the Aran. Her eyes like his reflected the stars of the night sky, though in a tent they were. Despite its darkened state her face was pale, as though shifting from life to death, and from her wound small veins of pale skin flowed, following the course of her blood. Concern was worn upon the face of the elf,

"Are you well? You should not be awake…"

"I am tired, though my eyes won't let me sleep… I feel…"

And in an instant the form of the woman was broken and her knees fell beneath her; quickly the elf came to her side and feeling her forehead felt the heat of the desert sun upon it, though it was wet as a leaf covered with dew.

When he took her in his arms she was lighter than when he had lifted her in the Talath Anorui, as though he had lifted a child rather than the limp body of a young woman. Briskly he strode through the dead of the night to the tent where grey smoke to greet the dawn that rose in the distance. Already there were villagers awake at that hour, mostly women cooking meals for the next day and their children who gathered water from the nearby river; their eyes rose to see the sight of a stranger carrying their chieftain's daughter in his hands, yet more surprising was the red heat that seemed to emanate from her limp form, red as the fire brand that formed their iron swords. A crowd began to gather as the elf bore her body into the tent; already the old woman sat, half in sleep and half awake, staring into the fire. As the elf began to speak she stopped his words with a simple opening of her half-shut eyes,

"Her spirit burns, like the leaf in a fire…Poison has taken her blood,"

She said as the young woman's body was laid before the fire, the ancient woman was for a moment struck by the worry upon the elf's face, the sense of urgency in his voice,

"Already it reverses the flow of her blood… we have… little time…"

The Ancient woman crawled to where the elf sat, touched the face of the young woman, who writhed in the pangs of birth, though she had no child to bear; her face now had become like a pale gray shadow. With her brows furrowed and voice uncertain she looked upon the elf's face and asked,

"You know of the poison that has stricken her?"

With a gentle nod the elf replied,

"In my land it has caused the death of many lives, the perversion of many hearts… for it does not kill entirely, but reverses the flow of the blood, striking the heart with an irreversible death, though it still pumps blood through the veins…"

"We have known this malady, the lifeless forms left behind are devoid of spirit, without heart, they wither and are misshapen… soulless forms upon the land."

"Do you have a poultice for it? She does not have much time…"

"No such thing exists in these lands, no herbs for its making, though I know of something that may slow the process…"

At that moment the form of Tal-ano burst through the entrance of the tent and came to kneel beside the groaning form of his sister's body. He spoke in words foreign to the ears of the elf, of a tongue that he had barely began to learn; in their sorrowful rhythm he discerned a call to the very soul, a cry to the fruitless task of calling a soul back from death. The ancient woman stood and went to where her bed was laid and she knelt upon the floor and from the place where her head was laid to rest she took a sword sheathed in a scarlet scabbard, that bore foreign runes in a tongue known only to one there,

"Take the stranger Tal-anoku, to the place where the river ends and the Fire Plain begins, use the old horse roads…the ones made by feet invisible to our eyes."

'Why go there, to a place so far removed…my place is here by her side…"

"She will not last the day if you stay. Go now! Ride fast the end of the river! Take the stranger, he knows what I need…"

"I …"

"Never in your short life have I asked you to do something without asking… Your father raised you as a warrior…fight now for your sister's life."

Standing from where he knelt Tal-ano took one last gaze upon Cidhrali and left saying only to the elf beside him in short words full of duty,

"Come…"

The elf placed the young woman's hand upon the floor and rose to leave the tent, when he saw the old woman rise to her feet, holding his sword in her hands she handed it to him and said,

"This belongs to you…"

With a gentle nod the elf took the sword and left the tent to the outer world, where the sun had barely peaked over the flat valley before him to the east. The stars still littered the sky and blazed with their last flame; eyes watched him as he strode to where the form of Tal-ano prepared two horses, both black of hue. In the distance the cry of Thingalad broke the morning silence, and in a silent whisper the elf said,

"Not now my friend, soon you will ride with me into battle…"

The whine of the horse ceased as he sat himself upon the black steed, whose gentle muscles tensed under his foreign loins. And with a silent kick they rode fast into the breaking night following the course of the river, and as the village became smaller in their left a cry went out as though life was being slowly drawn out like poison from a wound, the battle for the life of one woman had begun.


	18. Race Across the Golden River

The Wind raced across his face as the steed beneath his legs pushed hard against the rocky ground beside the rushing river; no words were spoken as the two rode from the village they had left but a few hours ago. The sun by now had arisen over the flat land to their right and lit the river with a yellow gold sheen. At that moment it reminded Celebrin of Rathloriel after the fall of Thingol; how he hated that river in his youth and would not dare touch it, even in the day of war when water seemed scarce. Bringing the horses to a stop, Tal-ano led them to the river where the tired steeds drank greedily from the cool rushing water; the two riders on the other hand stood silent watching the drinking horses, avoiding at great lengths the wish to speak to one another.

At last when half an hour had passed in silence the man Tal-ano spoke, his voice filled with reserve and empty of any discernable emotion, _he would have made a convincing Sinda_, the elf thought.

" Why was my sister in your tent unattended?"

"A painful memory awoke my sleep, she came to see if I was well…"

"She has always been a fool like that, trusting anyone who shows her the least bit of kindness…"

"You do not trust her heart?"

"I trust her heart… but her wisdom leaves something to be desired…"

"She is a wiser person than you know…"

"And what would a stranger know of her wisdom? You have only known her for four days!"

"And in those four days she has earned my respect, something few mortals have ever done in my entire span of life… It seems something common in your family, for you too have earned my respect… and trust."

" I have earned your trust?"

The man said with a scoff in his voice and lilt of his brow, to which the elf replied in a tone of voice that was grave and serious,

"Yes, for your love of her, for your sense of duty…and for your distrust of me."

Silence followed as the man took in these unlooked for words, yet deeply he listened to them in the years to come whenever he laid eyes upon the elf. Yet as the sun rose higher they rose again upon their steeds and rode quickly by the river's side as the land turned from a flat and rocky plain to one of hills and valleys of hard earthen clay. To their left rose the Fire Valley, on its farthest eastern shore. Farther south and to the east lay the bulk of it and if one were to follow the river fully they would turn westward and find a great gorge, where Two old men, an elf, and a woman defended themselves from a great sandstorm. And farther south of that lay the city of darkness, the city of Khamul; even at two days journey away in the distance it remained a great spot upon the southwestern horizon. That land, men in the west would say, had no King, no civilization, nothing to challenge Gondor and Arnor in might and majesty, yet if one were to stand upon a great mountain and face the Talath Anorui they would see great roads cutting through the lands, built by men in long ages past, men the Khand and Easterlings called the dreaded Gods of the West.

And upon an insignificant corner of this barren land two spots rode at great speed yet to be challenged by man or elf till many years from these dark days, traveling in a few hours what would take a day to travel by foot or slow pace of a horse's trot. And as the sun fell from its highest point in the sky the river came to an abrupt end falling into a deep cleft valley that housed a cave of sorts, similar to the Fens of Sirion, where the river disappeared from sight and reappeared miles farther downstream. There the man and elf halted their steeds and in the thorny brush that had grown there for hundreds of years, unkempt and wild, they stayed their ground for this was the place the ancient woman had spoken of, the place where the river ends. Both stood quiet for a while, hearing for sounds foreign to that barren place; at last Tal-ano spoke in a voice filled with anxiety and rashness,

"There is nothing here, nothing but weeds and thorns; if I did not know any better I would think you had bewitched Jzathi- ma-ala as you did my sister…in which case I should kill you now…"

With a rising of his hand the elf brought silence to the man's mouth and spoke in a soft whisper,

"I know not this land as you do, nor do I know the way back to my home if indeed I ever wished to return…but I do know the creatures who attacked your village not but one day ago… they fear for their lives and are above all things unwilling to die by their own hands unless captured…It was they who poisoned your sister, and if they fear their own poison…"

"They will carry a quick remedy…"

"Yes."

"How exactly does that help… they already have two days journey ahead of us"

"They fear the sunlight as you and your kind fear the night…it is their undoing and our fortune…The army that attacked you was made of both men and these beasts, such an army cannot move quickly without leaving some behind…so…"

"One day's journey is not as far as it would be of one kind."

Without words the elf nodded in agreement and with a sly look of his eye pointed toward an amber light that pierced the bramble of weeds and thorny bushes that began to grow as the light of the sun disappeared from the sky. Both elf and man cut their way silently through the brush and found a rather large encampment standing before them that lay hidden by the high stones and hill that littered the lands on the border of the flat sun-burnt valley to the west. To which the man said in a whisper,

"I may not be able to see you as an ally, but it is clear you have been a blessing this hour."

As they descended from the brush into the cleft the fires from the encampment glowed dimly in the night, revealing little to the naked eye save for large tents some scarlet and laden with heavy gold fabrics, others were thick and black, and their inside was as dark as the void between the stars. From these came no sound save for a grunt and loud roars of inhuman anger and rage- the neighing of horses could be heard in the distance as well as the growl of something unnatural to the ears of true beings, something twisted and deformed, like the sounds of a wolf or a dog mingled with the painful bray of a tortured beast of burden, this was the cry of the warg as it lusted for blood. In the center of the encampment stood a larger tent than any of the others and it was a deep scarlet trimmed with brazen gold that bore an opening at its top, from where smoke rose, telling of a fire within it. Through the side of the tent shadows both man and orc stood in grand profile, in heated discussion, cruel voices entered the air, speaking the tongue accursed in the west. Yet one voice, seemingly fair, or at least it once used to seem so, though now it lay heavy with some unknown woe and rasped as though the speaker had led a hard and arduous life,

"My decision is final Snaga, we leave the village alone, they pose no threat to us now"

In return came a voice as harsh as stone, and when he laughed or growled in anger which was most of the time it gurgled with trapped mucus as though all things vile and evil of the creature were kept inside,

"You are a fool! The master demands slaves! The ones in the city die too quickly to get the great weapon ready. Without newer, stronger scum to do the work He will make you bend your backs…I can be sure of this!"

"You forget worm, that I am your captain! Crowned so by the Lord Khamul himself! You follow my command!"

"Mark my words, human scum, you will fall like all the other goat- herders before you. The true Ruler of the Orcs, will return and you will bleed sweet blood for me to drink!"

Shouts followed both of men and orc followed and the sound of unsheathed metal sounded in the crashing din; outside, hidden by shadow and good fortune a man and an elf listen with intent ears and cloaked faces. And as the sound of battle began to rise a great crash as though thunder sounded broke the din and from the top of the tent a pillar of smoke rose to the sky like a green serpent and was illuminated by its own bile ridden light. The serpent fell for a moment then was stretched as though upon a rack higher toward the unveiling stars turning from serpent green to a blazing red littered with blasts of golden thunder. From the tent rose a whispering voice, bereft of all humanity, like the sound of metal running along the edge of a grinding stone and it entered the air and the bones of man, orc and elf alike,

"Sssilence you fools! What a grand army you make indeed, squabbling amongst yourselves like children…I am your master…YOU OWE NO ALLEGIANCE BUT TO ME! Return to me…and hear of my good newssss!"

The voice fell away into the night air and dissipated as though it were the sizzling of water upon a heated pan. At this the growling of the orcs ceased and the sounds of footsteps leaving the tent could be heard as the cloud of scarlet smoke dispersed into the wind. The shadow of one man stood bent in the center of the tent as the fire within died down to a gentle light and his silhouetted form disappeared behind the scarlet and gold fabric. Silence fell over the camp and it was then that the two spies crept unnoticed into the tent of the captain, unseen, and inside the elf did something he had not done in many centuries- thanked Elbereth for this small favor of being unseen by enemy eyes beneath her stars.

The tent of the captain was lavishly decorated with many diverse items all of which shimmered in the small firelight; still in the tent lay a small whisp of red smoke, fleeting though the hole in the canopy. Bent as a figure ill and lifeless the seemingly young man sat before the embers that lay scatters about the floor, to his arm he brought a device most peculiar to both man and elf, it was in form a small needle, as those that women use to sew, yet it was connected to a golden jar though a winding straw that smoked from its base and bubbled an odd metallic liquid from its top. The smell of the substance was almost intoxicating in itself, but it seemed then that the man took most of it through his arm, from where he had now began to remove the needle. From his shivering lips he mouthed words to the formless clouds of red.

"Forgive me master, I did not mean to anger you…"

The void spoke in return,

"You have served me well Tohopka, there is little reason I should destroy you…you showed mercy to the goat-herders…Why?"

"They are my people lord, I could not destroy them, not then…"

"Such loyalty is foolishness…He who shall return is your father, remember that."

"Y…yes my lord"

And with that the red smoke left the air as quickly and mysteriously as it had come, and the bent figure pulled from his shaking arm the long needle, now drenched in his blood. The gold he wore about his neck jingled as he uneasily rose and kicked dirt into the embers, lessening the light in the tent; then, weary of his ordeal, he laid upon his bed and the sounds of sleep came from his mouth. At this the elf rose from the shadows and crept in the darkness, coming to a large wooden chest that stood nearest to the entrance of the tent, silently he closed the open drapes and opened the chest searching with his hands, nose and eyes for a familiar scent of gentle herbs. The man, Tal-ano, however stood and quietly walked over to the form of his former brother lying upon the gold-laden bed; raising his crescent sword over his head he made target of the cruel man's slowly rising breast. The elf turned his head upon seeing the dying shadow and rushed with speed and agility grabbed the man by his hand in a firm grip. Tal-ano pushed the elf away with all his mortal strength and shouted in a low and vengeful voice,

"Find your drug, this is what I have come for… Justice!"

"What good is justice, when it means killing your own kin in his sleep?"

The man stood with a girt face and tense arms and he struck at a wooden chest with his blade; the sounds drew the sleeping man awake and upon seeing the two shadowed figures rushed to reach for his sword, yet Tal-ano quickly placed his own blade upon the neck of the man and stood prepared to slice it off. A smile came from the gold-toothed man as the moonlight glistened upon his sweat- laden brow; his face, though grim and shallow by firelight bore an amazing youth in his eyes,

"So you have come to kill me brother…well make it quick, you owe me that at least."

"I owe you nothing Tohopka! You alone abandoned our people…you alone broke our gentle peace with the other tribes!"

"And yet when mother died you thought little to tell me! How cruel indeed your heart is!"

"As far as mother knew she had but a daughter and one son…you were dead to her, and because of that she died from an incomplete heart."

A curse was spoken by the cruel faced man and it seemed then that Tal-ano would have severed the head from its body were it not for the voice of the elf which entered the man's ears, reminding him of their original task, weakly assenting Tal-ano placed the blade deeper into Tohopka's slender neck and spoke in a voice filled with rage and subdued violence,

"A coward you will always be to me brother, yet in the eyes of The Spirits you may have this one chance to be redeemed…Where is it? Where is the poultice that could save MY sister's life?"

The cruel man's bitter smile turned quickly into a thin line of worry and regret, and with his furrowed brow tears began to fall from their dry ducts as his wiry frame became limp and a cry broke forth from his golden mouth. And from his prostrate form a mangled voice emitted.

"By the Gods, I did not know… I ordered those cowards to not harm anyone! I ordered them!"

It was at that moment that the opening to the tent was parted and a cursed figure entered the starlit room, dragging his feet as though they were chained to a rock that sunk deep into the earth. A growl left his mouth as his first gaze came upon the eyes of the elf that shimmered like silver in the dimness, and from his scabbard was let loose a iron blade,

"I knew you to be seditious Tohopka! Holding parlay with these cursed beings!"

"Who are you to speak of sedition Snaga? You disobeyed me…an act equal to death!"

Tohopka stood at this and taking Tal-ano's sword, with movements quick as a young man, made skilled by war, he deflected the rising blade of the orc and brought the curved steel to the orc's trembling throat. A sneer came from the bent figures curved, scarred mouth as his choking laugh was followed by mucus being thrown back into the throat,

"They needed to be taught a lesson…what better lesson than to kill their princess."

His laughter came to the elf's ears and made him shiver as though he stood in the cold of the northern ice, his eye burned like blue steel and his dark raven hair glimmered in the dim light… to this the orc laughed and said,

"Wait till the Dark One hears of this… You siding with their lot…Then your head will roll, yours and all your kind!"

With that Tohopka sliced a small cut barely through the orc's throat, slender enough to prevent splatter but deep enough to cut the life veins of that wretched creature. From its corrupt mouth came a cry that sounded like a dog under unimaginable torture. Soon others followed filled with rage and wrath; and though the action was swift and precise the young man Tohopka slowly bent upon his knees, and in a manner unbefitting a servant of the Dark Lord he wept. Neither Man nor Elf knew why, perhaps it was for his fallen grace, perhaps it was for his unavoidable death, or perhaps…perhaps deep within him something broke which took years, nay, most of his life to reach a point in which a sorrowful fear could no longer be held back. His sobs broke the midnight silence and were swallowed in the din of angered growls and barks, and his tears, as though they had not wept in years, formed a small pool between his knees. Without looking at either man or elf he took from the neck of the slain orc a small pouch that was heavy with a dank smelling herb, deluged in blood. Throwing it behind him he spoke words of broken will,

"That is what you want isn't it? Take it and be gone…or…I will put you to the sword as well…"

Silently the elf took up the pouch and hid it deep in his clothing, behind his silver gray sash, which now was stained with impure blood, as he turned to leave he looked behind him and Tal-ano knelt beside his former brother and placed a small necklace beside the other's knee, it was not made of silver, or gold, but of doe hide and twigs, formed into a circle of red, blue, yellow, and white…it was strange to the elf who gazed upon it and kept the memory of it all his life and only once asked what it truly meant…

The two travelers stole into the brush amid the crowding throngs of men and orcs; none saw them pass, and none saw them leave, save a scout and though he shouted to his comrades his words fell on deaf ears. The moon passed the highest pinnacle of the sky when the two silently rode beside the river's edge at a pace faster than either had ever ridden. They did not stop for rest, or water only to hear the cries of a man stabbed in the heart, yet it was not a cry of pain but of battle, a war cry to the distant stars…

By the first hour of the morning two figures entered the village of Tal-ano's people and though the horses dropped from exhaustion beside the river's edge the two riders ran into the tent of Jzathi-ma-ala; and as they did so a mournful cry entered the air as though it mourned a great passing.


	19. This Tense Peace

_This is a rather long chapter I admit, but I think it is one of my more well written ones; at least in my mind it is. Anyway, here I shall try to redress the rather cryptic ending to the previous chapter involving Elrond and his family. _

* * *

Softly the green grass billowed in the bitter winter wind as the last vestiges of summer's foliage fell in autumn's coming. Of course the wind was always biting cold near the ocean, Elrond nearly forgot that- being in Rivendell for so long he had forgotten what it was like to live beside its ever churning waves and biting breezes. The whine of the white mare beside him brought his eyes to the silver hair of his wife, he smiled at how peaceful she seemed in that moment, gazing upon the Tower Hills where the land of men ended and the world of the elves began again. Of course he knew she was slightly timid of entering the land of Lindon; for there it was said the song of the sea was stronger than by Balar, where she had spent the last few decades of her maidenhood. With her waking eyes she had never seen the last pieces of Beleriand and if she were truly honest with herself her heart trembled as the very song of the stones was incomplete…like the songs her father sang.

Rambunctious laughter entered the ears of the Elven Lord and Lady as their twin sons had just finished telling a rather lewd joke to Glorfindel and Erestor, the later blushed at their impropriety, especially in his learned presence. Their mother laughed with her hearthy laugh that rang as a bronze bell ringing in the springtime, bringing a smile to her husband's face which faded quickly as they had passed unhindered into Lindon, passing under the Gate of Mithlond, which stood as a simple arched beam of stone cut from the mountain and bore runes of the ancient land reading "The End and the Beginning of All Journeys, Welcome Traveler to the Land of Song "…

"What troubles you husband? I thought this trip would do you good, seeing old friends and your old home again…"

"It is Celebrian…It's just…I never thought I would return here until a long time had passed…"

"One thousand years is long enough Elrond…even to the elves."

Reaching from where she sat upon her steed the she-elf winked to her husband, giving him strength to wipe worry from his face, he continued on another subject as though he did not wish to speak again of the cryptic message sent by the lord of the land they had just entered,

"Have you spoken with Arwen yet? About her…outburst."

"I did not have to…it is clear why she acts so…"

" Apparently dear wife you have a sight beyond my own…"

"Of course I do, I see her not as a doting father but as her mother, or at least how my own mother related to me…she questions her position and the duality within it."

"Duality? Never wife have I ever been duplicitous in my dealings in Imladris."

The elven lord became rather angered at that last statement, so much so that the term _wife_ seemed to bite upon his tounge as though it were a word of insult than a loving endearment. His wife however, and rather diplomatically spoke in a firmer tone,

"I did not mean to imply that you were a hypocrite Elrond, only to look at the world you live in as your daughter sees it. Everyday you surround yourself with advisors of Noldorin blood, the books in your library are filled with the Tengwar of Feanor, written by Noldorin historians, physicians and philosophers and the banner of Gil-galad hangs high in your Hall of Fire…and yet your daughter is told everyday she looks more and more like her ancient grandmother; by her maids and cooks that she bears the eyes of Luthien and Nimloth…yet these people are not in your books, these people have no voice in your songs…she, like you, is only half fulfilled…is it any wonder why Elladan called his own people _common elves"_

At that moment Elrond saw that he angered his wife, for her voice grew rushed as his had become, yet as he was going to speak the guards before them called out to him,

"My Lord, we have arrived!"

Turning to face him he saw upon a gray horse sat a person he had not seen in many years and shock came to his face as he saw something unexpected, for the ancient elf that sat before him bore a full grown beard upon his chin of silken white hair that matched the braided tresses falling from his circlet crowned head. The elf wore simple garb, like a sailor in his truest fashion, yet round his shoulders he wore a faded blue robe that seemed ages old. The hale voice came from the ancient elf with the youth of his people, though now it lay heavy with wisdom,

"Elen sila lumen omentielvo Elrond Peredhel"

"It is good to see you again Hir Cirdan"

"I see you have taken the Common tongue as your own Elrond…So it shall be with me."

The two laughed as the took each other's arm in friendship and as they spoke the ancient elf's eye came upon the rest of Elrond's family who had uncloaked their faces and whose gray eyes looked about them as the sounds of flutes entered the noontime sky,

"Alas forgive me, I did not introduce…"

"It is quite alright Peredhel, I was not expecting you to bring them if I must be honest…But you are all welcome…"

And as though he had known them all their lives he greeted each one by name and with a warm embrace, he even astonished the twins by calling them by their correct names without flaw. When at last he came to their mother he looked kindly upon her and said in a low whisper,

"Greetings Celebrian, I know why you have come…speak with me when all has been said, then we shall have more time to talk."

Yet dinner came later in the evening than any of the Rivendell Elves had anticipated. Already the sun had set and the moon reached near the pinnacle of the sky when the meal was set for eating. Into the great hall of Cirdan they were brought- the tree-like columns reached high into the domed ceiling spreading their stone branches to the gray walls where hung great tapestries and lamps from smaller cypress-shaped stands, made of darkened silver and wood. Blue and violet banners, lined and embroidered with silver hung to the right of the hall, which was shaped like the prow of a ship, the center being the Throne of the Shipwright, which lay vacant. To the left hung banners of scarlet-red and blue, embroidered with gold; and to many eyes these could be seen as the greatest of craft for they seemed to sparkle as the sun-lit streams that flowed through Imladris. In the center however was a simple banner of silver and bronze embroidery that lay upon a field of gray and blue, the tip of it fell above the Throne of the Shipwright, and upon its edge was sewn a silver ship set before white gull wings that flew through sea-green sea foam. The ancient lord laughed as one of the twins remarked saying,

"Never in my life have I felt so hungry…I thought supper was meant to be at sundown."

To which Cirdan of the Haven replied,

"Alas young ellon, in Imladris perhaps it is so, yet here upon the shores the nights are for resting with fine company and to be with family…and the days are for working in the far off seas, just one hour hence the last boats arrived from their exploits."

"Just now Cirdan? Gil-galad would have had a fit if he were to know that the ships came in at dusk!"

"Ah yes, but Erenion was a lover of the daylight and expected his shops to be open in the morning, but you forget how many Sinda still live on the southern shore, and how many choose to eat and work beneath the setting sun when the stars are visible."

At that point they sat and before them was brought forth a vast and diverse meal caught fresh from the sea, as well as herbs, and vegetables grown upon the palisades on the warmer Harlindon soil. Before them was also spread wine of ancient vintage, bearing the mark of Forlindon from the second age of the world. Elrond smiled as he looked upon the bottle; clearly the ancient elf had made the menu for the evening. And at the beginnings of the meal no word of business transpired as laughter filled the hall of Cirdan even up to its top-most rafters. Surrounding them sat many lords of both the Northern and Southern shores, with the table of Cirdan and Elrond in between them. To the young Elrohir it was remarkable how the two areas surrounding him acted so differently fromone another. To the left, the meal was eaten in silence and proper hushed voices, indicative of the many courtly meals he had eaten in his father's home and yet to the left laughter blasted forth as from a trumpet and great heavy lungs let out boisturous sounds of merriment. And in the middle where he sat a small private conversation transpired between his father and the ancient shipwright, one that he had caught the tail end of,

"Perhaps, she could take a look at your great library?"

"Alas Peredhel, I would be honored to allow your daughter such a privilege, however I am sorry to say much of my…more Telerin texts are too few and in poor condition for a girl studying history…old maps and ship charts…though I believe young Arwen I do have something that may peak your interest in your Grandmother's people…"

"That is most gracious of you Hir Cirdan, but I could not…"

"Nonesense! Galdor!"

A young elf came rushing to the Shipwright's side, nervous he seemed, to have been called by the Shipwright himself. Bowing to Elrond and Celebrian he straightened his back and then bent down to Cirdan's whispering mouth which was covered by the youth's long hazel-hued hair. He bore silver garments that seemed a bit big for him and the Lady of Imladris noted that something familiar about their embroidery struck a deep-set memory. The youth whisked away and returned moments later carrying two large books, both of which were encased in a shimmering dull blue leather embossing; handing them to the Shipwright he bowed silently and walked to his place beside a ruddy haired Noldor upon the right table who bore a smug grin upon his face, patting the youth upon his stern shoulders. Placing his hand firmly upon the ledgers he spoke in his ancient form of voice, as though what he had held were sacred to him alone,

'Now young Lady Arwen…these are the personal ledgers of the Captain of the Tower Guard. They are of no use to me now for they are well over ten years old, but the one who wrote them had a knack for documenting the lives of the mariners who served with him upon the sea…and in them I believe you may catch a glimpse of your great matron's life, for the one who wrote them…Is of her kin by time and place…"

He spoke those last few words as though it was a hushed and guarded secret; his gaze fell upon the ruddy haired elf at the head of the right table and he stroke his beard as he passed them to the young she-elf as hidden from view as he could manage. As the meal ended and the last noble families left by ferry or by horse to their lands, and as the servants cleared the tables from the grand hall, the Lord of Mithlond and the Lord and Lady of Imladris walked to a small corridor behind the Throne of the Shipwright, which in the moonlight shimmered as a pearl upon its bed of muscle and shell. The corridor lead to a chamber filled with large hanging maps and dimly lit lanterns which illuminated books bound in red, blue, green and every other color imaginable that could ever be placed upon leather. To the western edge of the study grew a large ancient cypress that jutted out to a balcony which opened to a view of the harbor beneath and straight forward one could gaze the end of the Gulf of Lune, miles away, where four lamps blazed atop the high cliffs of broken mountains. At first they sat in silence gazing at the starlit harbor until Elrond at last spoke, unsure at first of what he should say,

"I wish to thank you for you gracious welcome, Hir Cirdan…you needn't have bothered with such a grand reception…"

"Would you have done less were I to visit you in Imladris?"

"I suppose not…I…"

"The message I sent to you was meant to be cryptic Elrond…as this very dinner, though in great part due to your return to friendly lands, was a means of secret planning and was for all intents made to elude one who should remain blind to our dealings, business or not."

Both Celebrian and Elrond looked upon one another puzzled as the shoulders of the Shipwright eased and his eyes glittered in the light of the crescent moon that hung low in the sky. He spoke again, recalling a voice of a lord who seemed beleaguered by warfare…

"Peace may be ever present upon my shores, and no strife has yet to escalade to violence, yet there is a silent war in my lands Elrond…and I, am the one being attacked."

"That cannot be…you are loved by all here upon the gray shores, who would dare threaten you?"

"The very elf who saw me give that message for you to Gildor, Cullofea of the Northern Shores…He is good at heart Elrond, he cares for his people and for the lands he possesses well…yet ever is he in this city, planning against my designs for a more unified Lindon, against a place where Sinda and Noldo can work side by side and not quarrel over the rights to fish in the harbor, or the wood in the forests. To him the old ways of Noldor supremacy in culture, politics and government are pure, as they were under Caranthir his ancient lord…and to a lesser extent under Erenion."

"I admit Cullofea was rather hard on the Sindar in Erenion's kingdom, but he has always been demanding of perfection…"

"Yet now Peredhel, he has a mind of lordship and through his very distant relations desires to take his seat upon the throne of Erenion himself…"

"How could he! He is a base elf for all I know!"

"Compared to your mother and father Lady Celebrian yes…yet in these darkening times, when many, especially in Forlindon cry for a King again…his distant relation to Caranthir through his mother's cousin gives him at least one right…the right to be called a Prince of the Noldor, of the blood of Feanor himself!"

"It is blasphemy for him to consider himself such! The Kingship of the Noldor passes to Finarfin and Fingolfin's lines first due to the oath Maedhros took, in apology for the leaving of Fingolfin's people to march through the Helcaraxe!"

At this Celebrian became flustered, her face flushed with anger and he hands tensed as she wished at that moment to lay her hands upon that smug smile…often she heard her mother tell her of the crossing of that plain of ice, and how many died along the way, alone and without hope…Elrond placed his arms around his wife, easing her tension, looking upon the ancient elf he spoke in a hushed voice,

"And you have sought my aid…"

"Naturally…I cannot hold off his political attacks with the same ease as I once did…I am no longer the benevolent lord who took in refugees, now I am as much a politician as he is…he would not dare attack me when Erenion was alive, or when…Celebrin was at my side… for who would dare attack my position when the very High King of the Noldor and the Sickle of Doriath reminded them of their folly in Beleriand. Yet now…with both gone he says I am no longer fit to lead the Noldor in Lindon and they are under his province as Chief Regent of mainly Noldorin lands."

"Yet what can we do? I am Lord of Imladris not of Lindon!"

"Unless…you were to return to Forlindon and take up the seat Erenion left open for you, as his adopted heir and Prince of the elves by the sea…And you Lady Celebrian, as his Princess would bring more right to rule in your direct descent from the royal bloodlines of Finwe and Elwe. Both of you have the ability to ease the tense peace here upon the shore…"

Shock spread upon Elrond's face and Celebrian wore a look of worry upon her face as the very thought rolled through her mind, and for a brief moment she enjoyed seeing herself in a position that her mother had longed dreamed of, holding lands of her own…yet the dream she shattered and returned to the present where the ancient elf looked upon them wise, noble and yet worried…

"You know I would not ask this of you both unless I was in dire need…If Cullofea succeeds in bringing all Noldor under his banner, whatever influence I have gained in the Council of Lindon will be shattered and he will break Forlindon from the South…taking with him the prized harbors and control of more than half of the Gulf of Lune…The Teleri, my…our people, will struggle in lands that were once fully theirs…that for the greater part of these past ages they shared…yet even they are not fully blameless, many have chosen to enact tactics similar to Cullofea to bar the Noldor from using their farm lands and their woods…yet they have chosen to hold back these measures for loyalty to me, in hopes that I could bargain with Cullofea to allow free usage of the harbors, woods, and Gulf. Yet my time in their patience is ending swiftly…even the Teleri will not linger forever."

At this Elrond sighed, he had grown tired and the lateness of the hour came upon him harder than he had originally anticipated. Cirdan, as desperate as he was in that hour, lead them to their lodgings beside the calm sea, and with what skills he possessed gave them a calm sleep free from worry, yet when they woke late the next day husband and wife dwelled upon the matters which the Lord of Mithlond had related to them…

* * *

_Elrond, Prince of Lindon: As the Grandson of Dior, Elrond may be, as Celeborn, in line to the throne of the Sindar, however, as greater writers before me have related it is probable that the Sindar, like their Green-elf cousins, never again took a king after their kingdom was destroyed, that and being raised by Maedhros, Maglor, and Erenion may not hold him in good stead with his mother's people. And as for Elrond being in the line for Prince of the Noldor and by extension Lindon, through his close association with Erenion who had no children seemed somewhat natural and is merely this writer's imagination. The same goes for Cullofea Helkatil, there is no mention of him anywhere and he is a part of my own musings... Please do not flog me._

_Thanks again to all those who have written reviews, you remain dear to me. thank you_


	20. amen apsene

_I am terribly sorry for the long sabatical I took between chapters. At least it gave some of you time to catch up, hopefully you have not given up on the story of Celebrin. I realize that the last chapters wasn't exactly connected to the main arc of the storyline, this next chatper hopefully, while it still ends in mystery, will keep all of you intrigued in this sub story enough to see it to fruitition._

_This is a long chapter, but it will bea while before Ireturn to this substory. _

* * *

As the ferry bearing her husband drifted away towards the shore of Forlindon the lady of Imladris sighed and turned from the harbor, lit by the glow of the sun peaking over the Ered Luin behind her. She felt cold then, an odd thing for any elf…perhaps it was the sea song that her mother had warned her about, yet it felt similar to the moment she first met her husband, as though she was reliving a dream that was shrouded in mist…

"Does the weather not suit you milady?"

As she turned she saw the lightly robed Lord of Mithlond sitting upon a rock holding what looked like rope in his hands; sweat dotted his brow as though he had been working all night long, for his hair which was once tightly braided now lay in ruins and his beard was gray with dirt. He stood from where he sat and comfortingly placed his cloak around her shoulders and she replied as he escorted her from the harbor up a cascade of gray-stone steps,

"It is nothing Lord Cirdan, I was…just enjoying the sunrise…"

"Normally people looking Westward wish to enjoy the sunsets…but then again I have never been a good judge of beauty…"

"Hir Cirdan…I wish to apologize for…"

"Do not say so Lady Celebrian, it is right that your husband goes to Forlindon to speak with Cullofea, I would not have accepted his help if he only went on my word alone."

"It isn't that…Celebrin is not in Imladris, nor is he in Lorien with my brother…he"

"Left into the unknown East… I have known for quite sometime, Curunir, now called Saruman, had returned from the East in the middle of summer, he sent me word of what had happened…albeit not the entirety of the truth, but I have surmised the rest…"

"You do not think him dead?"

Silence fell upon the ancient Shipwright as they reached the level of the great hall, which let out bell rings that echoed through the entire port. Mariners came from their lodgings surrounding the coast; they winded their way down crooked pathways and lamp lit causeways; and from the harbor left the forms of more elves, returning home from work upon the harbor and the ships. The Shipwright looked out into the scene before him and smiled, though not one of joy, rather it bore a sadness within it that was revealed in his voice, a hopelessness long thought over,

" When Celebrin first arrived here upon this broken shore, he desired to leave with your father and mother quickly, without regard for me or his foster-mother. Yet here he remained, begrudging me the years I had lost in my estrangement with his father. And in his life here, he helped to build almost everything you see before you. This Hall he designed for me, these steps he helped to lay, these trees he helped to bring to long age…and those elves, some he trained from youth and others he was trained by, he was raised by this city, even as he raised it. Just as the heart lives on two chambers so too does this city vibrate with the souls of two people…his and mine. This city would falter, and these shores would cry…Hope remains my lady, for him…because that is all we who love him still have…"

And the day passed on, and the two spoke in the privacy of Cirdan's dwellings, mostly of the very elf who knelt over the body of a mortal woman, beseeching the fires of her soul to reawaken as drums began to beat in the distance, drums foretelling doom…

And in the land of Mithlond, as night fell over the Harbor, and elves left the shores for meals in their dwellings by the sea, a cloaked figure entered the lodgings of Cirdan's guests, and stood over the sleeping form of the Lady of Imladris. He crept to where a bowl remained for washing and as he dipped his hands into the cold water; as he did so the form of the she-elf spoke, and sat up gently from her resting place.

"Why do you come so late husband? Have you eaten?"

To which the figure responded in a low whisper,

"Yes I have, thank you…the business took longer than expected."

"Why do you whisper? The children are sleeping in other quarters tonight far from us…"

The cloaked figure sat upon a lonely chair and removed his boots and cloak, which were dirty and soaked from the day. With a silent moan he massaged his neck and held his head in his hands. Worried his wife walked over to where he sat and, having knelt at his feet brought his eyes to match her own,

"What happened?"

"When I first arrived Cullofea greeted me warmly, as though nothing in the world was wrong, yet… the first thing we spoke of after our greeting was my visit with Cirdan. He knows what Cirdan knows, and what is more he admits to it…"

"I do not understand…"

"He intends to take over Noldorin lands Celebrian, and for my part…I agree with him."

"What?"

"Cirdan is a dear friend to me Celebrian. Yet Cullofea says things are not as the Shipwright tells them…He knows of the growth of darkness in the North, the one we in Imladris have been hearing rumors of through the men of Eriador, and the Dwarves of Khazad-dum and Erebor. Every day elves enter Lindon seeking respite from this and everyday his realm swells with Noldor seeking refuge…they long for a king Celebrian…"

"But… Him!"

"You do not know him as I do! He is kinder than he looks and has never once lied to me, or to Erenion… Where do our people turn if not to him… in uncertain times, do not many send their hope upon one, a king, a captain…and even a despot? How else can one explain the blind faith of the Noldor under Feanor, or how Morgoth ruled thousands of men,or how many flocked to my side after Erenion's death in that last battle…Cullofea could be a great leader of our people."

"It is not his bravery you speak of but your own weakness…your own fear…you too could be a mighty prince! Imagine how alive the shores of this land would become…filled with your people from Rivendell and others who would follow you!"

"I left that title prince a long time ago Celebrian! Have you now regained hope of becoming a queen! Have your plans for our advantageous marriage at long last come true!"

With that the eyes of the Lady of Imladris filled with a white fire that burned in rage beneath them, and she rose from where she knelt lovingly at her husband's feet. And with her hand struck him across his worn face. A small bruise grew on his cheek in the form of her golden wedding band, which glimmered in the firelight. She turned on her heels and as she was about to walk out of the room she look straight at him in his eyes and said,

"I loved you, the moment I laid eyes on you when you were _nothing_ but a herald. I loved you, when you were a captain. And I loved you…when you were covered in soot, and motor, ten years ago…when you built me a study overlooking the Bruinen. If you fear to become greater than you are, it is not because I wish greatness upon you for me…but because everyone can see it in you…and you fear what they know to be within."

Into the night she left, and Elrond would have stood at that moment if it had not been for the glint of some strange jewel that had fallen to the floor. It was a small round gemstone, that shimmered blue in the night sky and in the darkness the Lord of Imladris could see a large crack within it…it had been mended. He felt as though his heart was filling with a strange sun-born fire, and the heat of an anger he had never know filled his breast…Never before had he felt jealousy and yet…as soon as the pangs had come they subsided…for in the distance he heard the faint sounds of crying…and walking to the doorway of their lodgings he saw his wife crying, leaning upon a statue of some unknown elf maiden caught in a living motion of a dance. She bore a wreath of willow upon her head and her hands seemed to still move in the wavering moonlight. Before he could say anything slowly approaching her, she spoke, at first in a whisper…

"I would still love you, if we returned to Imladris now, forsaking the title Cullofea wishes to take from you…But I would not forgive you…for a very long time…And it is not because, as you suspect that I have the desire to rule as a queen…It is because you leaving behind what Erenion left for you, would mean you wish to forget a moment in your life that was filled with sorrow…but also one in which you came back from the War…back to me. I have lost one good friend in his desire to forget his past…I will not loose you to it also…"

And with a tight embrace Elrond held his wife there by the sea…and in his mind he had decided what he needed to do…

The next day came and went, as the family of Elrond was taken around the city of Mithlond by that very same youth who had delivered Cirdan's ship logs. Galdor, as he was called by most who met him, though he was neither lord nor prosperous, but a page of sorts, following often in the train of Cirdan, following him with too close an eye as the young daughter of Elrond had at first thought. Elrohir and Elladan took to him rather well, and often ruffled him up with many of the tricks Erestor had grown far too wary of. On the day before their stay would come to an end, Cirdan himself showed them a sight he had reserved for when he was not busy. He led them through a long stretching pathway that went through a rather busy market place, passed a small fountain that was in the form of an elf playing a flute, from where the water spouted out into a silver-gray basin. Celebrian in that brief passing moment thought she had seen the face before, many times in her youth, though the eyes of the one she thought it looked like resembled another. Then they ascended steps which cut across a very steep hill, that one could tell had once been the foot of a large mountain. Even as they reached the zenith they still did not know what they were to expect until they stood upon a platform that had stairs descending the sheer cliff side down towards the crashing waves far below.

Down those stairs they went until they stopped at the base of the stairs, which was on a platform of gray cut stone. Before them stood an immense edifice cut into the sheer gray stone cliff. Columns wound up from the platform that jutted out toward the west behind them; up they rose until they became blended again with the craggy rock above. Between each column stood large arched doors, each one bearing an image upon its vast surface and above each the names of the places it was depicting. The furthest to the North was made of a light colored wood and bore an engraved scene depicting what appeared to be a city upon the shore, with a large sloping beach before it and in the distance an almost mountain-like tower above it, in bronze cirth it read "_Brithombar of old, Fallen in fire and war"_. Next to it was a door of darker wood that was bordered with shimmering elvish silver; upon it was engraved an image of a large mountain surrounded by a large forest. In the midst of the mountain was a gate, both large and ornate it seemed to be an actual entrance to a forgotten kingdom, a kingdom beneath the mountain, above it in deep silver cirth "_Menegroth, Fallen never by the hands of the Enemy_". In her mind Celebrian knew Celebrin wrote those words himself, who else would subtly remind the Noldor in Mithlond of the Kin slayings. Beside it stood a door of the darkest wood, and upon it was born another ocean side city, though it stood without a sloping beach, instead it was surrounded by rocky hills and it seemed to be larger than Brithombar in size, for it had two towers that reached high toward the silver stars that were above it, studs of opals and pearls embedded into the wood, above it read in silver, "_Eglarest, the Ancient Haven, long now it stands beneath the Sea_". And the last, facing south, was a door of elegant shimmering wood, though the image carved into it was less detailed and less realistic than the others. Though one could not mistake its image, and needed not words in shimmering gold stating "_Gondolin, Last of the Mighty Kingdoms in Beleriand_". Surrounding it were the most magnificent jewels anyone had laid eyes upon, for they shimmered though the sun was blocked by the cliff before them, and some changed into different rich hues as the onlookers changed the angle of their gazing. In silence they gazed upon it and would not speak a word; silently and with the sense that he was teaching them a great lesson Cirdan spoke with the sea spread out behind him.

"This, as I promised is the Library of Mithlond…within it are housed four thousand, seven-hundred and thirteen maps, atlases, and ship logs. One thousand, two hundred and seventy-nine books of poems and songs- most of which are from Nogothrond and Gondolin. And lastly three thousand, five-hundred and two histories from every major city in Beleriand…though most I admit, are missing large fractions of volumes…specifically those from Doriath…and Gondolin."

His voice seemed to have trailed as he said the last end of it, awe was worn upon the faces of Elrond and Celebrian and their children, specifically the young Arwen who walked up to the dark doors in the middle and raised her hand to the bottom of the etching of Doriath, and her hand lay upon a still detailed etching of a she-elf, dancing beneath the silver moon above her, and in the bushes she saw the face of a forlorn man, watching, enraptured. When they entered, they were greeted by a rough looking elf who- despite his grace- had one leg; his face was stern as though he had lived a long military career. In appearance he looked like a Sinda, for in his face were the same roughly cut traits Celeborn and Uial shared as members of the same ancient land. Lamps and hidden windows illuminated the dark caverns of the library; light cascaded from the high curved ceiling, in which was embedded silver stars that glowed like the ancient lamps of the Noldor, still used to some extent in Imladris and Lorien. There were hung large tapestries and paintings of events from the first two ages of the world, each one as detailed as the doorways. Sounds of music emanated from three mezzanines that encircled the inner structure; the sound of teachers could be heard as well as the gentle shifting of looms being worked in the far distance. While his family stood at the sight of the voluminous library Elrond walked over to the smiling shipwright and in a voice filled with wonder and awe said

"How…this must have taken you…centuries…How?"

**"**I hid many things from you and other lords of the elven kind…I remember Erenion, when he was a boy telling tales of the vast libraries in Valinor. I always found it odd that those who need not remember would write their histories on paper that would decay after many centuries then in a dream one night _this _came to me and well, I had to build it, no one knew about it except Celebrin and a few select captains who leant me their crew men to build it. Am I correct that you are adding on to Imladris as we speak?"

"Y…yes we are…but only lodging spaces…"

To this the ancient lord smirked as he motioned them to follow him to an adjacent corridor much like the first only it was filled with elves pouring over immense pieces of parchment that bore on them sketches of boats. Each elf bowed their head as Elrond and his family passed, the twins became enthralled by one drawing of a ship that had a swan head at its prow and seemed to sail in the slight breeze that entered from narrow passages in the rock face, which allowed slender light to filter in.

They came to two large doors that were simple in form, save for a slight green border that wound its way around two trees carved into the door, one silver and one gold, their limbs grew out of the doors and beyond the doorframe, stretching out onto the very walls of the chamber. The shipwright stopped only a few feet from the door and spoke to them as though he were speaking to a guard of sorts; the debate between him and the doors went on for a few more seconds until finally a faint unbolting of doors was heard in the room. The elves, who at the time were watching the guests from Imladris intently, busied themselves again with their charts and ship sketches- or at least tried to appear busy. The trees engraved upon the doors moved, and the limbs that reached onto the walls shifted and receded back onto the doors from which they came, as though they were the guardians of the chamber that lay behind them.

Then the gates were pushed open from the inside by two stern looking guards wearing armor of gold and regal blue, one bore a banner embroidered with a seven pointed star, these were, as best to Elrond's recollection the guards of Erenion, but they had disbanded when Gil-galad died…didn't they? Behind them lay an empty chamber, gray and simple, devoid of tapestries or paintings, except for three boxes, which lay upon the floor. They were each of equal length, width and height and were simple, though perfectly crafted in their structure and making. They seemed solid, without entrance or exit, yet they were seemingly trunks meant to carry something of great weight and volume. Nothing was marked upon their surface except for one phrase etched upon all three: _amen apsene, _as well as three individual emblems. For the center trunk it was clear that the seal of Erenion and the House of Finwe was etched in the center, the other two were more cryptic, for neither had been seen upon the world in so many years. One was an eagle in flight bearing red flowers in its mouth and holding the star of Feanor and his sons. The second was a harp black as night with seven strings and on both sides of it lay two rivers one greater than the other.

Elrond alone went toward the chests and ran his fingers over the crests and the words etched into the thick wood. He was followed by Cirdan and Celebrian, then Elladan and Elrohir after, Arwen however stayed apart and looked onward with an expression of wonder and fear upon her face, gently running her fingers over her pendent she wore around her neck at all times. At first nothing was said and no sound could be heard except for the murmurings of the workers in the other chamber, muted by the doors, which had closed after their entry. The Shipwright was the first to break the silence as he went to a table in the corner of the empty room that had several cups and a simple pitcher of water upon it, he poured himself a glass and having drunken it said in a low yet audible voice,

"These we found, oddly enough, in the private quarters of Gil-galad, but they were not among his effects or belongings, rather they were in the wall…Yes a wall… you see Helkatil in all his eagerness to build a library of his own began to turn the old palace into a grand building to house his burgeoning collection of books and gifts brought from the Lands of Arnor, Gondor, and Moria. When the walls proved to be an annoyance he toppled them and my workmen, whom he had loaned, found these hidden away in the mortar and solid stone. They brought them to me, thinking perhaps I had placed them there, since I had built the palace as a gift for Erenion…As you cal tell I did not place them there. Their use and meanings are beyond what I can fathom, the middle one obviously belongs to Erenion, but what he wishes forgiveness for I cannot know, the other two however…"

"Maglor and Maedhros."

The others looked toward the door where the dark-haired daughter of Elrond stood clutching a book she had taken from the shelves of the library she had come from. She stared at the chests intently, and it seemed then that she had departed from the land and earth they stood upon, her voice became deep and filled with a wisdom few possessed in the world,

"The first is an eagle, a king among the others, with red flowers telling of the adornment of the king…and he bears the star of Feanor with one talon, the other has been cleaved…it is Maedhros's chest. The other is a black harp, black as the hair of Maglor and the harp a symbol of his defining trait. The two rivers, one greater the other lesser, are the rivers Gelion that bordered the Gap which Maglor protected in Beleriand."

Elrohir looked upon the chests and then his sister as though he were looking upon one whose wisdom outreached his own. He walked toward her and having called her name he touched her upon the shoulder; tears began to flow from her eyes and she covered her face as he wrapped his arms around her. Elrond looked to Cirdan who seemed to ponder this new occurance with new eyes, and who muttered something under his breath; Celebrian looked between her husband and her daughter and at last broke the silence when the tears of Arwen had ceased and all had settled,

"These cannot be their chests, those must be at the bottom of the sea or taken over to the undying lands when the Noldor were allowed to return."

To which the Shipwright replied,

"The last sons of Feanor and their belongings have disappeared into the unknown west or into the shadows…these however, as your daughter surmised correctly, are not _their _belongings but those of others, from whom they ask forgiveness. Obviously your daughter was more sensitive to the guilt and sorrow laden upon them, written in their very boards…that is why you were moved to tears is it not?"

The young elleth nodded and took the cup of water her brother Elladan handed her with trembling hands, Elrond furrowed his brow and sat upon one of the chests running over the tengwar carved by a knife that read _Amen Apsene_ and he wondered what was behind them.

It was at that moment that an elf and a man raced into the tent of a dying woman and for a brief moment the elf stopped and smelled in the air a fragrance he had not smelled in years, when last he stood upon the shores of Lebennin.

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_amen apsene- _hopefully my quenya was alright when i tried this translation, it is supposed to read "forgive us" if it doesn't please feel free to correct me.


	21. Cat in a corner

_This is a rewrite to the original chapter 21. It seemed to me that the storyline there was not conducive to the overall character of Celebrin. This one I hope will stand better in the long run. Sorry again for the long hiatus, I have been busy with life, school etc. hopefully i may find time to work more on this story and others that I had started and have not yet finished. _

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None could say how long they had been standing there… hours? … days? Time seemed to hold no meaning then; neither elf, nor man nor aged woman could determine from the face of the young woman whether or not death would claim her. Yet in their silent vigil all enmity seemed to pass away, to the man thoughts of how selflessly the stranger had risked his own life for that of his sister, more how he had found respect in his mistrust. The silence was broken when the aged woman stood, her head gently touching hanging ornaments which hung from the poles that formed the makeshift roof of her tent; tapping the others on their shoulders she led them out into the bright noon sun. Heat rose from the earth in waves of steam distorting the horizon, blurring the line between the heavens and the earth. Surrounding them, scores of villagers looked at the three who had just left the healer's tent, yet did not follow them when they strode on to the bank of the river, where some children, innocent of the evil occurrences played in the shallow bank of the wide yellow river. The aged woman bent to her knees and taking water into her cupped hands washed her weary face and took from the flowing current and unsullied drink of water. With anticipation the man Tal-ano spoke impatiently,

"Well? Why do you torture us with silence woman?"

"What would you have me say Tal-anoku? That she will survive? That she will not be forever in this waking death? Because for that I have no answer, she fights, that is all I know… Unless you think differently stranger?"

She turned to Celebrin who stood looking at the shimmering of the sunlight on the water's surface, its golden sheen playing upon his inscrutable face, illuminating his pitch black hair with rays of golden sunlight. The words of the old woman barely registered in his mind, as his thoughts brought him to another whose face he had seen contort in undisturbed sleep, the sweat of his fever masking the face that was once came so easily to smiling. Looking up at the others his voice softened and he said,

"I agree with you… she hangs on the edge of death and life… the waking death…"

"You have seen this before, stranger?"

The voice of the aged chieftain came from behind them, and they turned to see a man worn by grief. He had torn his clothes in his anguish and his long plaits of graying black hair had been cut to the wrinkled scalp that gleamed pale in the sun. Tears had marred his proud face and his cheeks hung with the sadness of one who lost one so dear…

"Yes…I have…my lord"

"Do not dare call me that stranger…it is not a title I wish for, they alone use it."

The old man sat upon a large brown stone that burned in the baking sun, he seemed older than he had once appeared. Confusion came upon the elf, for in his land it was not only proper but also necessary to treat one as aged and noble with such respect, even if he were mortal. Yet this man's words were sincere and in his native tongue "lord" stung him as he heard it from the elf's mouth. He looked up into those ancient sea-gray eyes and said wearily,

"What…what does it do?"

"It…it burns the soul, like a fire. Only it feels cold to her, like stepping into a … lake that has frozen in winter. The herbs have ceased the spread of the poison, she alone must defeat it."

"Not alone."

These words came from Tal-ano and leaving them in silence he strode off into the distance where a crowd of villagers had gathered by the bank, Jzathi-ma-ala followed him after giving the elf an encouraging look. Before he even could ask the aged man spoke,

" They will try the dance of blood sharing…It is a …ritual we have…they will try to send the force of the tribe into her, give her strength…give her hope."

"Can they do it? Truly ally their spirits with hers?"

"Truth upon my mouth stranger, I do not believe such things… my wife did, long ago, and she died, as they performed that same dance to save her. It is foolish and useless to believe such things stranger. Foolish to an old man like me, who has seen the Spirits fail us time and time again. That is why, unlike my daughter and now my son, I do not believe you to be of the ancient ones…"

"And you would be right in thinking so old man…Ancient I am, but I have no gifts as the ones your daughter told me the ancients ought to have. For if I did I would not hesitate to bring your daughter awake myself, for the kindness she showed me and my companions."

Chuckling in a hopeless way the old man looked to the crowd who began to stir and to the elders who now stood around the ancient healer, apparently receiving orders.

"Then the fools will die, and my daughter with them…hope is lost as a dark cloud gathers on the horizon."

Looking to the West the elf saw indeed a cloud gathering in the distance, yet as his eyes strained to look beyond the sight of men he saw no rain clouds but fire protruding from the mouth of a device atop a large beast, a fire upon a moving mountain. And behind this moving mountain a force moved, with gnarled backs and rude armor.

"That is no cloud old man, but something far more dangerous…"

"Let them come then…we shall all die someday."

"What is more foolish? A people who will try even the illogical to save one they love? Or a man who sees death and slavery coming for him and does nothing to defend himself? My father once told me, that death could be met in two ways, one lying upon your back and the other standing upon your feet… Which shall you attempt old man? Even now your daughter struggles with death, and she is upon her back, will you with the ability to stand lay down?"

And with that Celebrin walked toward he village and found a large crowd gathered around a smoking fire, seven elders stood around it, chanting in a tongue Celebrin could not then understand. He saw the target of his mission standing beside the sleeping body of his sister, saying nothing but caressing the burning face of the woman. Toward this man he walked and silently pressed his shoulder, and into the man's ear the elf whispered,

"An army comes in the distance… you must prepare for battle."

"I must be here for her…besides no messenger has come, how could you have seen it?"

It was then that a rider burst into the village and fell from his horse, blood littered the ground as his fall broke black arrows that protruded from his back. Prostrate upon the ground he cried out,

"Death! Death comes! We must prepare to fight!"

And with that he was silenced, and a great cry went from all the people gathered, as aged men and women tore a their hair and clothing in disbelief. Turning to Celebrin an astonished Tal-ano spoke,

"H... How far?"

"They will be here by nightfall."

"Stay with her, I must find the elders."

And so the young man left as the villagers spread out gathering their belongings; the ancient woman knelt beside the elf and spoke in words that seemed more distant that ever,

"They will head to the pillars, we must get her there and there perform the ritual…or she will die this night… If you carry her I shall lead you."

Then she stood and walked, calmly amidst the chaos toward the mountains where Celebrin had first been held captive upon a pillar of rock in the burning sun. Gathering the limp body of the dying woman in his arms he followed the healing woman and in the corner of his eye he thought he saw an old man dressed in black riding into the North at great speed.

* * *

Whether he wanted to or not the son of Uial stood, trapped upon a stone pillar in the middle of an unknown land. There were few times in his longs years of life, which he had found himself in a similar position, even then it was with the knowledge of help beyond the horizon. Now no such thing would come to his aid; no elves, no men, nor even dwarves stood upon the horizon ready to break upon the surrounding enemy like a hammer. Yet even in this time hope seemed to not be absent, the people around him moved briskly here and there, never ebbing in their resolve to survive; he felt strangely at home. The woman, Cidhrali, stood upon her own feet, strength it seemed had at last found its way into her body; color once again filled her cheeks. She sent the elf a small smile as he gaze fell upon her; and once again a pain bit at his right eye.

The ritual of soul sharing which the medicine woman had performed still stuck in the elf's mind; he had never seen anything like it before. It was part grotesque and part inspiring. Being a "dark elf" he had seen the green elves perform something like it, and the tribal dances reminded him of those he had not seen since the last Festival of Winter he had celebrated in Doriath…in happier times. But something lay deep within it, something primal, something true…and if the elf were truly honest it frightened him; he had seen the healing arts of the Numenoreans and these were not like it. The chanting of that old woman seemed to take a life of its own as the drumbeats propelled the dancers further and further from reality. He even felt as though his own soul were being ripped from his body; the smell of the harsh herbs destroyed his defenses and he fell into a deep and unsatisfying sleep. Sleep for an elf, being an entirely different thing than for humans, was unkind in not preparing him for the trance state he succumbed to:

_In his waking dream he saw shadowy figures of men and women walking in reverent procession enveloping a cold, pale light upon the floor. He walked toward it and as the figures turned to face him they were pushed aside by something that surrounded the elf. In their lighted eyes he saw a pale, silver being occupying the place where he stood among them, and as he gazed at his hands he saw a bright moonlike aura around him. He walked to the center of the grouping and saw a woman veiled in a bright light; a bright white eagle rested upon her shoulders and she beckoned him to sit by her side. She was brighter than the others, but while his light was the brighter it gave way to hers as though one were oil and the other was water, one was stronger, older and more tried, the other though twice as old, and tried in its own right in matters like this it still was young and wild. By the knees of the veiled woman lay a fading white light that struggled to keep its existence. Through these dream eyes the elf saw a great light erupt from the people in front of him, and all their lights mingled in one to form a bright star that blinded him. From it came a white ball of fire that hovered over the pale light, and through its light, warmth filled the elf, and it beckoned him to join it, but something held him back. The warmth swam over the lesser light, surrounding it, cradling it as the light of the veiled woman led Celebrin's to hover over the weaker light. He heard the beatings of the drums grow fainter and the sound of a lone flute or a breeze flowing through a tree sing in the distance. As it grew he could hear the sound of a heart, its pulse growing stronger as his own sense of what was happening began to fade into unawareness. He could hear other instruments flowing through the air and their music, one filled with hope not sorrow, to which he was accustomed, grew in volume and soon he ceased to remember…_

When he woke, the girl, Cidhrali, was awake and showing signs of recovery. The village was quiet upon the hill and it seemed as though nothing happened the night before; that was nights ago and now they were surrounded with little to no leadership, and their hope was waning thin.

The elderly men, with whom Celebrin arrived and whom the people had began calling _shaman_, which in their tongue meant wise one, stood surrounded by elders and healers from all the different tribes of these people. Giving counsel was by far their main concern; for the elf action was paramount to the counsel of old men. He felt old, among all the young men who thought of him as nothing but a few years older than they; despite his relatively short years, he was old in heart. He remembered how Celebrian had often told him he was too young to be so old; she had often feared he skipped childhood altogether…he shook the happier memories from his mind, that was ages ago now. The smell of fire floated up his nostrils and he peered down into the smoky abyss.

Before him lay a vast sea of red flame and dark faces, the shouts of the enemy were dense, and crashed against the sandstone pillar he stood upon. In truth it seemed more like a mountain than a pillar, yet unlike a mountain it did not rise to a peak but flattened and smoothly cascaded toward the valley in a steep slope. For protection it was ideal, for retreat it was fatal, water could not flow up it, nor could any be brought, and for all its size it could be completely enveloped. The sea of flame had not yet surrounded them, but in time it would, and escape would be impossible. The large pillar seemed to not have been carved by nature's hand, at least to the elf it seemed this way; for it was perfectly circular and symmetrical, as though it formed the base of a large tower. The stairs, though weathered seemed carved into the rock face, and perfectly surrounded tower in its climb to the zenith.

Large stones were positioned on its summit, in such an order that they reflected Menelvagor in shape and form. For three of the largest stones lay in the center in perfect alignment, and they in turn were surrounded by three slightly smaller ones and large red stone facing westward; these were then followed in succession by smaller and smaller stones the farther they came from the center. All this the elf had time to notice as day turned into endless night and idle waiting brought the enemy closer to the very gates of the pillar. He did not sleep that night, but kept watch on the valley down below, with many thoughts passing through his head.

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_Menelvagor- the sindarin version of the constellation Orion. _

_As always review and critique, all I ask is that you be civil. _


	22. The attempt of escape

_Sorry for the long absence; hopefully you all have not forgotten about Celebrin and his adventures. I promise that now that summer is upon us updates will take shorter periods between them. Here is the latest in the story and -hopefully- it is not completely foreign from the rest of the story. There are some more "new" words which shall be explained alongside those in elvish. _

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Dawn, or what seemed to resemble it, broke the next morning without any sign of battle or even a single drum beat, _They must be trying to drive us mad with silence…_ the elf thought as he prepared arrows out of crude stone cut from the larger stones about them. Cidhrali, even in her weakened state, was ordering the women around like a general; what's more they saluted her with all the seriousness in the world. Celebrin had tried to keep his distance from her, for some reason, ever since the blood-sharing ceremony, the sight of her eyes made the scar upon his cheek burn with an uncommon fire. Pain surged through his arm as the bone he was using to chip arrow points stabbed his finger and let loose a small drop of blood. Young men who surrounded him chuckled to see the finely clad stranger make a mockery of himself, he gave them a small smile that was a pitiful remnant of his grin; it was all he could produce, ever since…

He shook the thoughts from his mind, as he often found himself doing. Putting down the bone and stone chippings he foraged the wide circular tower for remnants of twigs, sticks and decomposed animal hides that were needed for the construction of crude weaponry. He heard slow and methodical foot steps behind him as he stooped for what he thought was a straight shaft, but turned out to be a shattered twig. Turning to the footsteps he saw the bent figure of Jzathi-ma-ala leaning upon her staff, smiling at him with a wide and foolish grin. He stood erect as a sign of respect, a movement that elicited a laugh from her. With his brow furrowed he crossed his arms and said haltingly in her tongue,

"Why do you laugh old woman? This is not the time for it."

"All must laugh so that they do not cry, all must cry so that they do not laugh."

Her cryptic words reminded him of Galadriel and Cirdan when they got into their "moods", it was these moments that he would take a leave day from his duty; their metaphysical prattle tired him. Yet now he could not escape and the old woman knelt on the floor and waved for him to join her.

"Young-old-one, I have been meaning to speak with you…about the ceremony. Now don't get up, you _will_ hear me! Something passed between you and young Cidhrali, and between you and young Tal-anoku, it frightened many, and confused some."

"And you…"

"It awed and worried me…you have tied your soul to theirs…Young Cidhrali, I think depends on you now for survival, and young Tal-anoku? Well he and you have found a brotherhood, I cannot explain. I came to warn you Young-old-one, this may not end well…an understatement I know…But I also know what happens, when ancients mix with mortals…"

Celebrin turned to her but with the quickness of a young girl she rose and joined Cidhrali in the center, where the sound of ripping threads and clothing could be heard. The dark-haired chieftain's daughter looked up at the elf and on the right side of his face a burning sensation fogged his vision. He turned to gaze down at the fiery lake below them, the other pillars that surrounded them loomed in the distance, though none were as massive or as tall as the one on which he now stood. The golden river gleamed in the eastern distance and the red mountains towered above him, he was trapped in the middle of two escape routes and despite his wisdom could not think of a way out. The man Tal-ano saw the elf pondering many things and, excusing himself from the council he was a part of, strode over to the edge of the pillar and looked down upon the lake of fire.

"It is not impossible stranger…escape."

"You have greater hope than me. The rivers to our east, the mountains to our west…I do not see where escape lies."

"This darkness is their undoing…"

An ancient voice came from behind the two, and ambling up toward them was the ancient man Pallando, he bore a smile upon his face and seemed to be hiding something in the folds of his now tattered cloak. Stretching out his arm he held forth a coil of rope made from torn clothes, shredded bark and shorn hair. With a look of despair on his brow yet hope in his eyes he said,

"It is not much, but I think it may hold…"

Eyes agape the elf took the rope in his hands and though it seemed as though it would break just from touching it, it held together well and defied even the elf's perceptions. He then heard the old man speak of how the women-folk were busy making enough rope to build a small crude bridge to the next pillar. Already the younger members of that large tribe were tying a section of a large rope to a large stone, which formed the shape of Menelvagor.

"How do they know it will reach?"

"They do not, but they are gathering every scrap from every conceivable place…"

The elf marveled at Cirdhali's people and their genius, and he cursed himself as to why it had not occurred to him before. The Galadhrim had long used rope bridges to traverse rivers and large sections of impassable foliage in the forests. Yet he had not the skill or knowledge to make their light and strong rope, though now he wished he had even just a coil of it.

"The enemy has not fully surrounded the pillar but they have left a small force on the other side, blocking complete escape."

"It is near impossible to send even one of our number to attempt this! The stairs go around the pillar, not down one side…the enemy will see any attempt of escape."

"Perhaps not…"

At this point Celebrin interrupted the conversation of the others and with a whistle Thingalad trotted over to them the light, elvish saddle jingling with what few bells it had left upon it. He reached into his pack and pulled out a gray cloak that seemed to both reflect and become a part of the surrounding light. He smirked at the last minute gift from Amroth; he had had several cloaks, and knew then not why he needed another. But he knew the properties of this one; the cloaks of the Galadhrim were a famous piece of elvish lore among those who bothered to study the Nandor and their close kin.

"This will protect any from the sight of foes and even friends, at least from a distance. Take your quickest runner and give him this…it will at least allow him to reach a more reasonable section of the stairs to escape."

With a nod Tal-ano took the cloak and walked to where his men waited anxiously for orders.

"We both know Uial, that you can reach the next pillar with no sound beneath your feet and no evidence of detection…Why, then, do you give it to another to do?"

"I am needed here, and we both know that they are the best judges of the layout of their land."

"Do not fool yourself, they hardly need you here…you may have far sight and keen hearing but in methods of war you are no Beleg or Glorfindel. You were trained in stealth and deception…this is what you are needed for."

With a stern look Pallando then called out for the man Tal-ano, when he came with a look of worry on his face, the ancient man spoke,

"_He_ will do it…He is swift of foot and light upon them, and he has better sight in this shadow than any of your men."

Taking the cloak from Tal-ano, he offered it to the elf, who with great hesitation, took it and wrapped it around his shoulders. This produced a gasp from the man as the gray turned to uneasy shade and the body of the elf blended in the surroundings.

"I shall tell the scout he will not be needed…I think stranger you are not of this world, though you do not know it."

Tal-ano walked off, never seeming to take his thoughts away from the elf and the inhuman nature of his person.

"Pallando…"

"Before you say anything else, I did what I did because it was necessary…Do you think these people have the slightest chance of survival if they sent one of their own? Their arrows will hardly reach this pillar, your bow, however and your skill can achieve the result they desire. Now is the time to go…too much talk and not enough action."

The old man hobbled away and left the elf pondering what he must do, a nudge from Thingalad revived his senses and with a sigh he patted the horse upon his white neck,

"He's right my friend…Stay with the woman, she is your mistress until I return."

He walked over to the edge of the flat-topped mountain and looked down into the darkness beneath; it was true, there was nothing but a few fires at the bottom, yet in the distance the empty space began to fill up as more troops were sent to guard the open gap and close the ever surrounding ocean of flame. The distance to the next decapitated mountain was not long, though it seemed in that darkness to be miles away; in the darkness below him the elf could see several sentry guards who had planted themselves on the stairs in secure places where they were not threatened with arrows from above.

The elf tied the rope around his waist and after resetting the cloak around his head and back; he sat on the edge and looked back at the silent people who for an instant looked as though they would never see him again. The eyes of the woman shone in the dimness at him, she held a bundle of rope out toward him, which he took and put it over his shoulder. As she handed him more and more bundles, he felt the weight of them against his back. A young man who had caked himself in mud sat beside him, silently, ready to follow him, he already had a great many bundle around his chest and shoulders. Cidhrali looked at him with great fear; taking some mud from the boy's body she marked the elf's forehead,

"Stay safe."

Was all she said, and then she disappeared into the crowd, to make more arrows and to sharpen the knives. With a gentle breath in the elf jumped off the edge and felt the rope tighten in his hands as the weight of both he and the bundles made the rope twang with tension. As he repelled off the cliff into the unknown darkness he recalled in his memories, the last time he climbed on a rope like this,

_The ocean beat below him then, as the shouts of an elderly elf edged him to hurry up. The other young Ellyn had already made it to the boat waiting on the bottom, one in particular looked at him with great worry, his golden-brown hair shimmered in the noonday sun. He knew then why ropes must be climbed, but never in his entire life had he understood why one would want to repel down them; this was what Noldor did when they had to climb down from their city walls in an emergency. The Sindar had lived in caves then, there were no ropes to climb down, at least not until the Nandor built talans. The instructor began to untie the rope at the top,_

_"You are going down one way or another Thinda…Good thing you can swim better than you can climb."_

_He gasped then as the rope lost its tension and he felt the space beneath his feet rush away. Just as he fell one foot toward the rushing waves beneath him, he curled into a small ball and as his heavier torso propelled his head toward the ocean, he stretched out as his father taught him years ago. Like a spear he fell through the air to the waves below; he heard the praises of the other young Ellyn on the boat for his flawless conversion from falling to diving. As he penetrated the water with a small splash a sharp pain bit him on the corner of his forehead and he knew darkness. When he awoke he saw a tear soaked face blocking the sun from his eyes, the golden-brown hair shimmered like a river of bronze though it was soaking and still had sea foam netted in different places. _

_"Hi…"_

_, Was all Celebrin could say. With a shake of his head and a shout of joy the worried elf embraced his friend after having almost lost him to the sea. _

Uial remembered that later that day the instructor was fired once the Lord of Lindon saw the scared, bleeding forehead and had heard the story of how a simple rope exercise had turned into a diving routine into sharp, unpredictable rocks below. The scar from that little brush with death had healed long ago, but the other which had not healed in millennia burned on the side of his right eye. By the time the memory had faded from the elf's mind the guard below him was close enough to smell; after cringing his nose, the elf looked up and saw the mud-caked boy following after him. Silently unsheathing his knife, the elf threw his legs up around his torso and grabbed hold of makeshift rope between his legs; apparently the Noldor had taught him more than he would care to admit. Sliding down to where the rope ended, just a few feet above the guard, he stretched out his had and with a quick swipe and a muffled groan the guard lay motionless upon the ground. Landing lightly upon the ground the elf looked down at his unknowing victim, it was a man, not much older than Tal-ano, though he wore crimson not sable black.

Landing with an inaudible pat of his feet he pulled on the rope, signaling the young man following him that the ground was safe. Taking another rope from his back he secured the second line on a deadened branch, which at one time began growing out of the mountain, yet had died some years ago. Despite its position on the mountain, the roots went deep and would easily support the weight upon it, at least temporarily. Peering over the edge the elf saw the other guard looking up at the darkness above him, the darkness did seem to be their undoing, for the man below could not see the rope hanging from the top of the mountain, nor the mud covered man slowly descending it. Celebrin threw the rope over the side and the end once again dangled just above the head of the other man. He threw his leg over the side and with a final tug of the rope he descended the way he came, silently he crawled down, and once he reached the end of the rope he turned himself around and quietly disposed of yet another sentinel.

By the time he reached the last level of stairs, just before the end, he looked down at his hands, now covered in blood. He had never killed a mortal before, and was surprised by how easily it came to him now, and how smoothly the knife ended their existence. He had always thought, since men were slightly larger than elves, that they would be harder to kill or made of tougher skin, but they seemed more fragile, more…sympathetic. He shook the thoughts from his head, he still had an encampment to slay at the foot of the mountain and already the sun would soon be at noontide. Looking up at the young man above him he saw his silent partner busy tying loose ends together, creating a long rope from the top of the mountain to where the elf now stood. He still could not understand what exactly their plan was but he hoped it would work, or at least that it would give the people a fighting chance.

He had to be more careful now; the light of the encampment's fire below made the descent more treacherous, if not impossible. The elf had counted roughly 5 men at the base camp and about 7 more out on patrol. More to this the stench of orcs was in the wind, meaning they were close by or approaching, and he could count on their presence to know the scent of an elf over a human, no matter how long it had been since that elf had bathed. A rock fell from up above him; looking up, he saw the young man hold out a bow and a quiver of arrows, as though he would drop them. Celebrin planted himself right below and with bent knees he absorbed the sound of the fall the weapons created. His sword and knife were already secure on his belt when he armed the bow and pulled it taught aiming for a patrolman who had wandered off to relive himself. The elf's target stood oblivious to the doom that lay upon him and then something struck the ear of the archer on the ledge, the whine of a horse. With a curt smile the elf realized a better plan than picking off guards one-by-one, moving along the edge of the mountain-tower he found a small tent which housed the encampment's horses. Within there were about 6 horses, one for every guard and an extra to rotate. They were tied to a small post that had been dug into the earth. With his body laying on the ground the elf hung a rope down the edge and, having wrapped himself tightly in his cape, he descended the moderate distance till he hung just above the tent's roof. Lightly he set his foot on top of it and lay he body down on the thick tent roofing. Within he could hear the sounds of the horses whinnying and the rhythm of them lapping from a bag of water. Using his knife he cut a hole into the roof and looked within, there was no fire inside and no one tending to the horses. He gently jumped down into the makeshift stable and the horses lifted their heads to the new presence; though fiercely loyal to their dark masters these steeds had never before seen or smelt an elf. Like all creatures, evil or no, they were at most curious or at least treated him with the annoyance they would pay to a rabbit. Having untied their reins, he gathered bits of dry grass from the floor, and with a quick strike of flint against hard stone the whole ground seemed ablaze. The steeds brayed and cried out in terrifying shrieks; with bolts of thunder under their hooves they tore the tent that housed them down and scattered in every other direction, panic following them wherever they went. The elf barely escaped without being trampled and with a wry smile upon his lips he saw the men from the camp chase after their steeds, leaving their camp and fire untended. With a quick motion of his hand the elf signaled for the young man following him to throw the ropes down and descend as quickly as he could.

They with the kicked up dirt as their shield they stole into the darkness around and ran to some cover of rocks not far away, there the young man let out a laugh amid the shouts and thunder of hooves, and he called the elf a name which he could not understand.

"Cucuopeylley, you are Cucuopeylley, stranger!"

"What does this mean? Cucuopeylley?"

"Cucuopeylley is, stranger, an ancient one, who tricks men and brings rain."

Unease fell over the elf, already this young man gave him the name of a spirit, and powers which he did not have. Yet seeing how the young man smiled, the unease went away, and looking out into the darkness they saw that they had escaped notice of the men in the camp.

* * *

_Menelvagor- the sindarin name for the constellation of Orion. _

_The Flashback- A little trifle of Alphindir that I decided to throw in here, hopefully it makes some sense. The Noldor instructor using the word Thinda, rather than Sinda is an attempt at creating a linguistic insult. The Sindar morphed the word for gray into "thin" such as in Thingol, or Thingalad, as opposed to the more Noldor-like Sinda, and Singollo. This would be a means of insulting the Sindar way of speaking, much the same way that mock accents do. _

_Cucuopeylley- A fictional early form of the name Kokopelli; Kokopelli is a trickster spirit amongst the Katchina believing people of the American Southwest, such as the Hopi and Anasasi. He is often depicted with a flute and causes mischeif as well as bringing rain and presiding over fertility. The reason why i chose this name for our elf will hopefully become apparent. _

_Please, as always, feel free to provide constructive critism of anything you find good or bad of this installment. _


	23. Victory and the Years of hiding

_Hello all, sorry about the long delay inthe updating of this story, but do not fear the next installment should be coming soon, hopefully before I start school. I'm not sure if this is scewing too far from what a fanfic should be but since the Professor left the East fairly unwritten about it leaves itself to be writte n about. If any of you has a problem with how the story goes please dont feel shy to tell me about it, its important that I remain true to Tolkien's words and work, yet creative liscense always plays a factor, now without further adue I give you Chapter 23. _

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The red sand beneath his feet crunched and sifted as he ran swiftly over the desert plain to the tower that steadily began to cover the northern sky. As man and elf neared the stone tower the sounds of shrill cries began to fill the night air, the bodies had been discovered no doubt…they had little time before search parties were sent out to find escapees, and only a few hours before the enemy would seek retribution. When they reached the pillar of stone Celebrin noticed that it too had steps carved into its side, though these were more broken apart and less stable than the ones they had just descended, yet for the fleet footed elf it was little more than a morning walk beside the sea shores of Harlond. The young man navigated the broken ledges as well as the elf yet hesitated or caused a few to tumble down the spiraling stair. As the stair became narrower as they neared the top, the middle of the night had long passed; day, if it indeed would come, was near. No more memories came to the elf as the growing sounds of oncoming battle began to fill the air, the enemy beat their drums and the cruel shouts of a harsh tongue rose amid the din of clanging shields and swords. The top of this pillar was smaller than the other, yet was more guarded as it was crowned with a wall of pointed stones, placed side-by-side to form a fence that archers could use to send arrows upon their enemies and keep themselves from harm.

Who built these battlements the elf was unsure, yet he had a feeling that the Numenoreans may have had a hand in such architecture, though he had never before seen the walls of Minas Tirith or the guard walls of Osgiliath, for the affairs of mortals were far from his mind and care in those days. As they caught their breath at the top of the pillar he surveyed the land that surrounded him, the pillar, though it was shorter from the southern one, was built upon the end of the plain where the flat land quickly dropped on its way north. If the enemy gave pursuit, the shadow of the night would hide the sheer drop, hopefully injuring both rider and beast if Cidhrali's people found chance of escape.

Quickly they tied one end of the rope to a stone close to the edge and began to coil them to allow free movement. Then Celebrin descended the pillar as the young man uncoiled bundle after bundle of makeshift rope; wrapped in his cloak he was unseen by the renewed guard at the bottom of the pillar where Cidhrali and her people sat and waited. With each foot the rope descended to the bottom of the pillar just as it had done with the other; the next few moments were a blur as the elf, bow in one hand, and knife in the other, ran to the encampment of guards and hid amidst the shadows. There he could hear harsh voices speaking in the tongue that Cidhrali taught him.

"How long till we fight! These peasants tire me!"

"Just you wait, they'll come down. They have no more water and plenty wounded, old and weak."

"Yeah they'll be begging to go back to the way things were!"

"Good, my wife's been nagging me to get a new slave, the old one's been getting lazy."

Celebrin girded his teeth, and staying out of the light of the fire, he sneaked through the encampment and disposed of those guards who wandered off to relieve themselves or who were lead away by the tricks of the guards. In the end there were no more than five left in the tent where the majority of light came from; with a steely expression on his face he armed his bow and looked at the blood on his hands. He thought to himself how easy it had become to kill, without mercy, or even a sense of guilt, not just orcs, but even men, whose only claim to evil was that the Dark Lord had come to them first before they knew anything of Elves or of the Powers in the West.

With an intake of air he thrust his way into the tent and there were few shouts as all five remaining guards were silenced within a few short minutes each with an arrow stuck in their throat or chest. He stepped out into the darkness, wiping the blood on his hands upon the tent, he looked up toward the pillar's peak and sent out a low whistle. A head peaked out and with his elf ears he heard low voices hold a silent conversation, then he saw small figures begin to descend the rope the elf and young man had left behind. The first to descend was Tal-ano, who with a smile greeted the elf and said,

"My men will descend first and secure the passage, then the womenfolk shall descend and make their way to the other pillar."

"There is a sheer drop beyond that pillar, they could make a run to the North, any pursuit would be made difficult."

"Perhaps stranger, but right now our defense is paramount to any escape. Escape draws far too much attention and I will not give up my father's land…not yet."

The elf nodded as Tal-ano sent his men to scout the enemy, wearing the garb of the recently slain guards of the dark city. Others took supplies from the tent and made their way to the pillar in the distance, where the young man waited to take in the refugees. Celebrin meanwhile took the horses and set them free upon the plain, heading in the direction of the river to the East. He gathered the water store that the encampment had and placed it into skins for the women to take to the new refuge. As he left the stable he saw a figure approach him, the figure walked with an uncertain confidence, as though she was wary of ever exerting any power though she had plenty within her. Cidhrali smiled as she approached the elf, silently he gave her the skins and said,

"These are for you and your people. It is water from the stables, but I doubt that matters much now."

"Thank you…You speak well for someone who just learned our tongue."

"Well, it is easy, when it is all I hear."

Even in that time of urgency the woman laughed and her smile pierced the elf's thoughts, it had been months since he was heard laughter, in Lorien in what seemed to be an age ago. As he opened his mouth to say more, a horn was heard and a great cry went out from the crowd of refugees as flames began to bite the darkness of the distance. They had been found… those unfit to fight scrambled back up the rope or ran to the other pillar. Others, Tal-ano and his men, and a few maidens who brandished swords or bows stood between those running and the line of approaching fire. The elf quickly ran to Tal-ano's side and drew his sword, which shimmered in the fire's light; the line began to march toward them with a thunderous din of feet and clashing steel. Those who stood against this wave were ill armed and ill guarded, yet still they stood, and the elf admired their courage. Allatar and Pallando, the two blue wizards, held steady their staves; it was at this moment that Allatar spoke,

"Should we not reveal ourselves now? It seems like the best time."

"Not yet, we have already let the Valaroma sound once in the East. We have but one last time to do so…we must be smart about this brother."

"And if we fail this night? What hope then is left?"

"We will not fail…Behold, Arien peaks her head even amidst this darkness."

And to the eyes of Allatar the East began to blaze forth in deep purple and brilliant gold, and thunder was heard from above them, yet it was not the sound of drum or the crash of metal. This low rumble rent through the entire sky and with a crash stroke the ground in a brilliant flash. At first none knew if it was a device of the Enemy, yet fear was written in the faces of the foes before them, the lightning was indeed unexpected and a great wind came down from the mountain followed by another crash of resounding thunder. Then in the Northwest a different horn was heard followed by shouts in a language that the elf had never before heard, a cry of fear came from the enemy before him and then as they dispersed a cavalry broke through the line of fire and began to slay the enemy in fierce unrelenting haste. Tal-ano gave a cry of victory and he ran head first toward the battle, followed by his men and the armed women. Celebrin barely processed all that was happening when he realized he too was running toward the battle and that his own heart jumped with fiery zeal.

As the enemy was dispersed and fled into the oncoming morning a great thunderous roar came from above them and for the first time in his life Celebrin saw what many had called a mumakil, towering before him. The creature stood hundreds of feet tall and like a great moving mountain was propped up on four tree thick limbs. Its hue was gray as though it was made of moving stone, and its two gleaming white tusks jutted down toward the ground and curved to form two pale white crescent moons. It was both frightening and wondrous, for never before and never after would human or elvish eyes see a creature of such size and majesty.

It bore a smoking fire upon its back, yet as the thunder and lightning crashed around it the creature became frightened and ran from the storm and battle. With it went the unnatural darkness that had engulfed the area for the storm's wind pushed out the thick black smoke that issued from a device upon the back of the mumakil. The orcs amidst the enemy ran in fear of the rising sun, and followed the mumakil, not caring that with every step the creature trampled them. The men of the enemy's banner who stayed were slaughtered by those upon horses and the few who escaped told the frightening tale of the army of the mountains who brought with them the rain and smote thunder from their bows. In the end of the battle, as a light rain fell upon them, many stood rejoicing in their unexpected victory, others ran to the pillars to tell their loved ones to rejoin them upon the plain. Tal-ano found the elf and with laughter in his voice he greeted him, yet the elf wore worry upon his face, the cavalry who now began to surround them wore frightening masks upon their faces and they still had their swords and spears drawn in the semblance of battle. Slowly silence followed and an uneasy peace remained for a short time. Then a rider came forth, wearing black robes, he had a shorn head and wore a necklace made of green stones and bone. Tal-ano's father looked very different from the way he had been before, this new chieftan seemed changed, fiercer, stronger, and more sorrowful. He descended and greeted his people, as they crowded around him he raised his hands and they fell silent. To them he spoke,

"My people, our brothers, the tribes of the raven and the crow, the tribes of the wolf and the stag have come to our aide. We can no longer remain here in the open fields of our ancestors, nor by the golden river, who gave us life. The Dark One will indeed be angry for his defeat and will seek us out. Go back to our village, and find what possessions you still have. Gather your families and follow your chieftains, for we go west and north into our brother's lands, into the mountains, and forge a new life for ourselves!"

Silently the people dispersed and regrouped in small family units, then each unit gathered around a single chieftain and for the first time Celebrin saw how many tribes made up Cidhrali's people. In total there were seven smaller tribes, Cidhrali's being the largest; the elf would in time come to know each one by their name and people, Cidhrali's people called themselves the Enasazhi, the next largest group were called the Hupazune. The others were called, the Manan, the Ashtegu, the Gree, the Enga and the Irogui. As they grouped the elf saw the Chief pull his son aside and speak with him in a low whisper, at first Tal-ano wore a worried expression then what was once a joyous face of victory became one of sadness, and then obligatory agreement. Cidhrali stood by the elf silently and then asked him,

"My people know where they are going stranger…where will you go now? Back to the West? Or further East, where they say the river meets the end of the world?"

"I can go no further on my own…I shall follow my companions, as I promised I would."

* * *

And with that the fate of Uial Celebrin joined that of the people in the East, for Allatar and Pallando joined the elders and sages of Jzathi-ma-ala and into the North and West they went and Celebrin became a guard under Tal-ano's command through the journey into the mountains. For four days the exiles journeyed, and Tal-ano grew more and more silent as they approached the lands of the Crow tribe. There he opened his mind to the elf as they slept beneath the stars. And there the elf learned of the reason why the tribes of the Crow, Wolf, Raven and Stag had come to their aid. In his urgency to save his people Tal-ano's father had brokered a marriage contract with the Chief of the Crow tribe. Tal-ano would remain behind and marry the Chief's daughter, and would be severed from his people as was the custom of the Crow people. Celebrin could say nothing to assuage the sorrow in Tal-ano's heart, nor could his sister bring an end to his grief, for the man Tal-ano fought for the freedom of his people and was denied the pleasure of enjoying it himself.

His people left him in the lands of the Crow tribe, yet as time would draw on he would find happiness in fatherhood and pride in this new alliance of a strong people with that of his father. And the lands in which Cidhrali's people stayed were sheltered from attack by high red stone mountains where plenty of game and food could be gathered. And as time drew on Celebrin, the elf of Doriath found a place among the people, for his keen sight and hearing made him a formidable hunter and he learned much of herb lore and healing from Jzathi-ma-ala, and they in turn learned much about the lore of herb and wood from him.

Allatar and Pallando traveled amongst the separate tribes, learning of their lore and telling them much of the Powers of the West. They grew in stature and position, much to the dislike of the elf, for they considered him less and less and spoke less often to him than they used to. They seemed to enjoy the attention the people gave them, a reaction that Celebrin agreed with little, and he went no more to them for guidance or to converse about their mission in the East, something which he had only guessed at. A friendship grew between Cidhrali and the elf, who had begun to be called Cucuopeylley and Getsucuatil, by the Cidhrali's people. But the chief's daughter herself called him Cedlal, which was her word for twilight and any who came to know him more intimately called him such.

Four years had passed since they had first met and six since he began his journey in the East from the shores of Mithlond; a great feast was held for the birth of Tal-ano's second child, a son, who would inherit the Chieftainship of his grandfather. In the night as a celebratory fire stood lit, the woman Cidhrali, now 22 years of age, walked up to Celebrin and said,

"Come dance with me Cedlal! Do not look so sad to be here."

"I am not sad, just thinking, find someone else to dance with! I have no feet worth dancing with."

As she pressed him, he stood at last and walked away excusing himself, she pursued him and took hold of his shoulder,

"What bothers you now? Whenever there is a feast you shy away from joy and hide in darkness!"

"I will not be chided for my actions! Leave me be, I will not dance with you! Find another younger man to do it."

"This isn't about dancing Cedlal! Why do you always run away?"

In this moment Celebrin looked upon the face of Cidhrali and saw for a brief moment Celebrian staring fiercly back at him, and the voice of Alphindil ringing through his mind. Upset he turned his face from the woman and, filling up with anger, he said,

"Leave me be woman!"

Cidhrali lifted her hand to where his scar lay upon his cheek and she touched it lightly, yet under his skin a fire burned at her touch and pushing her violently away he strode off into the distance, while blood began to pour out of the ancient wound.

He found solace in a nearby riverbed, where high bushes grew and hid him from sight; he touched the cool water, and drank from it, finding refreshment in its clear sweet unjudging caress. He looked to the stars and marked their position, knowing what it meant and what day it marked in his memory. He removed his clothing and walked into the river letting the water surround him and cool his temper. The sound of a twig breaking made him turn and before him stood Cidhrali, her hair unbraided and lying upon her shoulders, she had already removed her own clothes, yet this did not bother the elf, for in the hot summer months it was common for these people to go unclothed and bathe amongst each other. What surprised him rather was that he had never before seen her body, which at first glance looked smooth and unblemished. Yet as the moonlight caught it, scars revealed themselves upon her hips, her back and even between her thighs. They were deep and old scars that had been made many years ago by knives, fists, and whips. As she walked into the river they disappeared beneath the reflected sheen of moonlight and he spoke,

"Many centuries ago, on this night, my parents died. By our own kin our country was destroyed and our people dispersed. As we took shelter in the capital city, my father stood in the defense of our people; I was so eager to fight by his side I left my mother and ran onto the battlefield looking for him. I found him and he grew angry with me, he pulled me back behind our defenses and ordered me to go back. When he did this an arrow wounded him. He ran back into battle and was slain by the sword of our kin, his head hewn from his body. My mother went mad with grief and she ran onto the field of battle and took up his sword and returned to the citadel of our capital. She left me in the care of a maiden and took up my father's place, defending our lands, in my foolishness I followed her and saw her slain by three arrows with my own eyes. The scar upon my cheek was made when I ran into the heat of battle in a violent rage, a child among my people, but none could stop me then, I survived and closed myself off to a world that I no longer wished to be a part of…Many years later I let my heart open to another, and only he could touch that same scar as you did…with tenderness and warmth. He showed me how to live again, and eventually how to live with those whose actions destroyed my home.

In the end he was wounded himself, and instead of finding strength in me as I had in him he fled, leaving me alone and scaring the cold heart I had once closed off to the world. When you touched it, a burning rose in my heart, and I was reminded of those who left me…I don't…I don't want to add you to that list, Cidhrali, I don't want to blame you for tearing another wound in my heart. Please, just leave me be…that's what I came into the East for, to be away from those memories…to be away from the very thing that tears at my being."

Then the elf turned away to retrieve his clothes yet was held back by the slight touch of the woman behind him, he turned to face her and she took his hand an placed it upon a scar on her shoulder,

"Many years ago, I loved a man named Zochidhru, when we married he was 16 and I was 14. My brother, Tohopka, rebelled against my father and mother and joined the army of the Dark One, and with him went my husband and many more of our young men, for the Dark One promised them gold, power and great fame. From all around they flocked to him some learning how to do great magic, others becoming great warriors in battles with distant lands. I followed my brother and husband and for a while we were happy and very wealthy. I had gold jewelry so heavy I had sit just to wear it. Then our good fortunes changed, the wars in distant lands failed and the city was flooded with people, it became harder and harder for my husband to keep us wealthy. And I never complained as he took my jewelry and my fine clothes, and even as he changed our homes and smiled less, I loved him still.

He took to drinking and brothels, and still I stayed for the child I carried in my womb and for the shame I would bring if I fled back home. Then one day he came to our home, in a blind, drunken and jealous rage and he tore me from my bed and with his knife tore at my flesh, accusing me of having a child that was not his. My brother came, hearing the shouts from his home above us, he fought Zochidhru and slew him. He then took me to his home and cared for me until I was well enough to move about on my own…The child within me died, and with it the part of me that kept me in that forsaken city. When I was well enough to move on my own I left my brother's home and shamed woman and fled back to my mother's people, there my father took me in again…

We have both been scared Cedlal, by those whom we loved…I live every day with my scars on the outside of my body, and you…you live with them forever inside, the only sign of your sorrow is that small scar upon your cheek. I show you tenderness because no other has looked at me as you do…To my people I am a woman defined by my father or by my brothers and husband, but to you I am not…in your gaze I feel…stronger than I ever had been, in your eyes I am the woman I became when I lifted your sword and faced that shadow, years ago and …I never want to become that slave girl ever again."

As tears welled up in her eyes Cidhrali ceased speaking and looked down into the water, and for the first time Celebrin did not feel shame or anger, he did not feel sorrow or pity. And then he felt something running down his own cheek and moved to wipe the blood away, yet as he looked at his fingers he did not see blood but the remnants of a tear. He gave out a slight chuckle as he looked once again into the eyes of Cidhrali and found in them not childish admiration but the most honest expression of…joy. For once he did not feel guilty for his joy as he had years before and as she enclosed him in her arms he felt young again, as though the centuries that separated them were nothing more than minor moments in life. Despite the caution in his mind and the many warnings the wise among the elves had given against the mingling of men and elves he bent his neck to where her face peered up at him and placed his quivering lips upon her own. And for a brief moment his heart skipped a beat and he felt her own beat match his and they held each other closer allowing the cold desert air to envelop them in the mist of the early morn. And for an eternity they held one another and their beating hearts hummed as one; the music of the earth harmonized in that brief fleeting instant and then ended as quickly as it had begun. She pulled away and walked into the enveloping darkness, her clothes left behind upon the sandy shore. And he looked up into the stars and wept for the breaking of his cold heart beneath the piercing rays of the waxing moon.

* * *

_Gasp!!!! Hopefully I kept that last scene respectable. Originally it was left rather ambiguous and i feared people would draw the wrong conclusions about Mr. Uial_

_Zochidru- fictional name inspired by the Nahuatl word for flower, Xochtil. _


	24. Roots of the Orocarni

_At long last, I have finally updated the story, and now that I am in summer break hopefully I'll have more chances to do so. I had some trouble with how to continue it so i hope this works. There is a major flashback scene in this one so be prepared. _

The stench of the air was acrid, the smell of musty, old dried herbs filled Celebrin's nose and forced him to wrinkle it just to stop himself from vomiting. Despite the fact that the herbs had some medicinal value, he could not for the life of him understand why they had to smell so…diseased. Even now, after 17 years of living among mortals in their refuge lands, he had not developed immunity to their vibrant odors, the smell of their sweat, their food or their medicine. It was not that all the smells were bad, some were rather pleasant; they were just, strong, inescapable. In the herb houses of Rivendell or the fish markets of Mithlond smell was less overt, somehow being around true elvish smells was like being in an open air meadow. The same smells were there, just more spread out. He blamed the mountains most of all; the red rooted Orocarni encircled them as though they were in a fort or a bowl made of stone. The profound result was that air didn't move as freely as it did elsewhere; therein trapping the scents and concentrating them on the elf's nose.

He waved these thoughts with a flick of his hand, he had to concentrate on the project at hand; lying before him was a cairn, beneath it lay the body of Chief Kwartegu, who had died two years ago. The old man became very fatherly to the elf roughly a year before he died, confiding in him his fears and the advice he wanted to give his grandson, who was barely 15 years of age, old enough in this land to take upon himself his grandfather's chieftainship. The old man feared the young did not know what it meant to be a leader, much less the leader of a nation. Though it didn't seem right to the elf, he accepted the charge as he had others in his self-imposed exile. Many times throughout the years he had thought of returning to the lands of his people but anger still burned in his heart, ever was he longing to finally be rid of the world that had hurt him so much. Stoically he laid the sage and mryhh boughs upon the cairn, and whispered to the spirit of the old man,

"I shall still take care of her… you need not worry about that."

The wind blew through the bushes that grew hopelessly out of the sandy ground, salt was in the air as the summer gusts kicked up the old sea-bed and filled the sky with a hazy darkness. The elf could smell rain in the air, though it would probably fall farther north in the recesses of the mountains where none dared to go. He remembered often the words he had shared with the old man that led him into this predicament, ones that made him abandon his old ways and fully made him part of this tribe…

* * *

His memory reached back then and saw the old man lying ill in his bed, surrounded by the Ithryn's acolytes. The smell of the bitter herbs was just as it was now, and the foggy haze encircled their heads heavily before escaping out of the tent's roof. The aged, wrinkled man, called him close and whispered in his ear,

"I worry about her, Cedlal and about who will care for her when I am gone. "

"I shall try Old Friend, I promise you that…"

The old man chuckled and looked upon Cidhrali with a mournful face,

"You cannot care for her, bachelor as you are. She needs a husband and try as I might, I could not find one that suited her, or her tribe."

"I do not think it is an evil thing that she remains unwed, she is strong and you have no need of an heir. "

"No perhaps not…still she bears the shadow of her foolish husband's treachery…a better match could give her the respect she deserves when I am gone."

"Tal-ano's brothers-in-law could be such a match."

"The only one that is unmarried is only a boy of 16…hardly worthy of her. No Cedlal, the man I had in mind…was you."

"Me?"

The shock almost was audible in that cramped tent, the aged man waved everyone off, and waited for the tent to be empty before continuing.

"No more of my children need to be bartered for the safety of their people; you have earned a good name among our people and you are respected in all the tribes of this nation…why not marry her?"

"I am not free to do so…my own people caution against it."

"But they do not forbid it…from what you have told me, such unions have been…very good for you."

"I…I…cannot."

"Do you not care for her and did you not promise to see that she is safe?"

"I care for her very much…The Holy-ones would not allow it."

"I don't care for what those blue ones say…I care for what you say…"

"I… I shall leave it up to her…it is after-all her choice too."

The old man smiled and nodded his head, and sagely said,

"You will make a fine husband then."

And so, 15 years into his exile it came to pass that Celebrin the elf was married to Cidrhali the mortal, and as is the course of such things it went on as an unnoticed and unremarkable thing. Their ceremony was in the manner of the people of the East, which is altogether foreign to the minds of the Western lands. Those in the West would call it primitive and without ceremony; yet the eyes of the elf contemplated all these things and in his heart he kept their sacred secrecy, 

for none ought to see such things and recount them as though it were only a trip to the shore. Vows were spoken to the stars and the gods of sun and moon, as well as to the Earth itself. The cosmos of the Eastern peoples was never fully accepted by the elf, for he was schooled and had seen the Powers of the world, even if from the distance.

Yet something compelled him to follow by their devotion; who was he, an elf born of a herald and a seamstress to question the faith of men and elves? There was indeed a feast, as is usual when it comes to celebrating such an occasion; and Tal-ano brought forth his own tribe, of which he was now Chief, along with his wife and four children. There was great rejoicing in those days, despite the darkness that lingered beyond them; the free tribes of the East enjoyed a tense peace and freedom that comes with hiding in the shadows, unseen. Yet the thoughts of the darkness were ever in their minds, for the City of Khamul did not rest but grew, taking in more slaves from distant lands. It was then, in the stillness of the night that a gray figure crept into the lands of Khamul, alongside one dressed in white; their twin sets of eyes recalling all that happened in that dark land. Yet such matters are better left in other moments. That night Cedlal the Kadjinai of the west married Cidhrali the daughter of Kwartegu of the East, and when the celebrating had ended she took him into her home, as was the custom of this people.

The elf watched as she undressed before him, and thoughts ever came into his mind warning him of the sorrows that came with the mingling of the children of Eru, yet also the great joys. He shook the warnings in his mind; "Too long," he thought to himself, "too long have I been cautious. And caution has earned me as much sorrow as action…I am no elf anymore…and shall never be again." He said this to the two Ithryn, who objected to his marriage, to the sky, and most importantly to his own heart. Playfully she ran her hands through his hair, the sensation of which made him gasp for air.

"What are you thinking about husband?"

He started to back away, remembering the warning in his heart, and the silent war going on beneath his eyes. Her smile crooked and passionate drew him into her eyes, dark pools of ever-lasting night the deep cleft above her heart and the rolling curves of her form called to him. The scar upon his cheek burned then, yet the fire in it only made the warnings in his mind grow more and more silent. He felt without reason, without thought, and even without immortality, for the first time in his life, he tasted then the brief flavor of mortal fear, something he had only tasted on the eve of battle. And yet, he felt the vigor of his once lost youth coming back to him, he no longer felt the weight of three ages of the sun, but instead cast them off as one does a heavy raiment. He looked upon her as one changed, his eyes filled with tears of passion, of freedom,

"Only of you my wife...I have always thought of you, ever since that night by the river and ever since the day you battled the shadow."

Silently she leaned into him and placed her lips upon his; their feathery touch feeling both warm and chilling, sending ripples down his spine. The coldness of the night on his exposed skin made him shiver, it had never done that before. Drawing him down into her warm embrace, she pulled the woven blanket over them and beneath the blazing night, man and elf joined again, as they had not done since the days of Earendil...

* * *

These memories faded from his mind's eye and left a tear upon his cheek but a smile upon his lips, he looked upon his neck and saw the turquoise marriage totem hanging precariously on his buckskin tunic. His elvish clothes lasted him a total of two years before they fell into disrepair and despite his mother being an accomplished weaver he couldn't recreate the subtle works of art in this arid land. At first he wore what he could, but found that it made him look profoundly ridiculous and elicited laughs from the old maids who warned him he would look that way without a wife. So he consented to wearing the clothing of these people; since they were foreigners in a strange land they could only raise minor crops and scratch a living off of sheep and a strange creature from the mountains which they called _Ihamba_, smaller than a horse, larger than a goat and whose fur reached down to the floor. Cotton could not be raised in this way and so animal skins and wool from their herd animals was all they could muster to build clothing. The buckskin tunic was a gift, from his brother-in-law, who lived in the lands of the Crow, where sparse forest lent itself to a small population of deer. He wore a simple loincloth also, rather than the full leggings, which he reserved for the bitterness of winter, or excursions through the brush.

Reports had come that Khamul and his forces were beginning to expand to the North into the lands of the Crow; Tal-ano had ordered that all the tribes and nations mover further into the cliffs and canyons. They took to living in canyon caves or settlements built upon "meshai" the flat-topped mountains, which littered this land.

As a result they had to go further inland to get water from the sparse rivers that ran through the rocky land, Cidhrali had gone to fetch water earlier today and Celebrin would have accompanied her, but he was soon to meet with Tal-ano to discuss moving the tribes yet again perhaps this time further North and East, where herds of Mumakil could be found. A rustle in the brush startled him and he drew Lingaladaear, which shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight, eliciting a gasp from the young lad before him. Seeing who it was the elf gingerly sheathed his father's sword, and gave a slight chortle before speaking,

"You know well enough Dhraloku, never sneak up on someone in the wilderness, especially if you haven't yet mastered walking quietly."

"I try to remember what you teach me uncle, but my feet are too clumsy to walk like you do."

"Not everything I do is natural, it takes determination and a little bit of hard work."

"But I'm 15 years old, and still I cannot hunt like you and father…the others, they call me weak or little boy… "

"Who calls you these things?"

Cedlal moved from where he stood and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, comforting him as he had done when the youth was a child, afraid of swimming.

"The others, the Holy-ones…they say I am not ready to lead, that I am not fit to."

The youth kicked a stone toward the grave of his grandfather and walked to the edge of the cliff on which the old man was buried; the sun had begun to slide lower and had turned a deep orange and caused the land to emanate red hues, almost blood like. The boy continued, leaning against the trunk of a dead tree that had snapped asunder in antiquity.

"The only ones who say I am ready are you and aunt Cidhrali; sometimes I wonder if I was cursed to always be small; even my sisters are taller than I."

"Size means little, when it comes to the ability to act and lead, much less to defend that which one loves. Your aunt and I have faith in you because we know that when it comes to a difficult moment you are always able to act and consider…most just act, and others spend their time considering; being able to do both is a great gift."

"Why do you always talk in doubles Uncle? It's nerve-wrecking!"

The youth laughed, and it rang out like little bells in a great hall; the elf smiled and leaned against the same tree the boy was.

"It was the way of my people, to speak of both things, when one asked for one answer. I suppose I still haven't learned to put it away."

"Do not, I enjoy it…it makes me think…You used to tell me much of your land, of the people there, your lands and your tongues, but you stopped when I was 10. Why did you do that? I enjoyed them."

"They were fantasies Dhraloku…memories that have no more meaning…Stories that have no more purpose than to entertain."

"Sometimes we all need to hear about such peaceful places… it makes living here seem a little bit easier."

"Well when you become Chief, I will tell you much more…come let us head back to the village, we have spent too much time up on this cliff."

Together the two walked down the cliff, through the brush and came to a small circle of rocks that demarcated the beginnings of their land toward the east. They turned into a small winding path away from the stones and veered northward behind a shelf-like embankment of a dead river. There among the dry tangled thorn-bushes they crawled into a small cave no larger than a small youth. The cave opened into a tunnel that led southward for about a mile before opening suddenly at the height of a large canyon. Beside the opening of this exit was a rope bridge that led down to the village, carved into the bottom of the canyon. This was a defense engineered by the elf and Tal-ano's people, a way of misleading the enemy from the location of their villages. It consisted of many numerous pathways that led nowhere with few entrance points, most of them underground as the previously mentioned one was. As they climbed down the rope to the village the sun began to descend and night scaled above them overhead. Below the elf could see commotions in the village center, warriors were already preparing for battle and Tal-ano was getting ready to lead them.


	25. Into the lands of the Kadjinai

_It continues, originally this was a very long posting but decided to break it off into two, that way noone got lost or tired. Enjoy and please Read and Review_

He jumped from the end of the rope and landed with a soft thud upon the desert ground; with his arrival, the crowd turned to him, deferring to him as their chieftain. Dhraloku landed with a slightly louder thud but seemed as graceful; Tal-ano looked at the elf and his son gravely, motioning them to come closer to him, not wanting to alarm the crowd more. When the two arrived Tal-ano spoke in a deep whisper,

"Cidhrali has not returned from the hills, have you seen her this day?"

The elf looked at the youth beside him, and his face wore the look of confusion as much as his own,

"We have not seen her since this morning Brother, when she left to retrieve water from the spring…She was not alone…"

"We know, the others have returned running, frightened beyond all measure, weeping and marked all over with scars and thorns in their skin, as though they ran without caution or abandon.…They will tell me nothing, saying only that they will speak to you."

"When did they return?"

Celebrin's cautious tone left him and he spoke more openly now, seeing the small group of women, sitting low upon the ground, wrapping their arms around their legs in a position of childlike fear and self-protection. Tal-ano, still whispering said,

"One hour ago, they came in parts, screaming about _pokuhu_, and shadows grabbing at them and…laughing."

"Pokuhu?"

"Creatures of darkness, cruel and mischievous, seldom do they attack in the day, and we have only heard rumors of them…children's stories told by old men."

Celebrin looked intently at the women, who looked at him and began to weep bitterly, one fell to his feet and grabbed a hold of his ankles, pleading in a voice labored by tears and fear,

"Getsucuatil, forgive us great one, we did not mean to insult you so and leave Cidhrali behind…f…fear took hold of us and we ran, even though she ordered us to stay. She is lost and we are weak…please forgive us!"

Going to his knees the elf picked up the frightened young woman and looked in her eyes, calming her by placing his fingers on a point on her back on a point that calmed the quickly beating heart.

"Zodjida, fear is nothing to be ashamed of…I do not blame you for what happened, but please you must tell me what happened!"

"We…we left early morning…t… to take water from the spring in the hills. But… it was dry; a wind storm had come and sealed it shut the night before. We would have turned back but Cidhrali convinced us to go further north, saying there would be more springs. We went over high hills and 

looked for hours for any signs of water, keeping our eyes on the ground; we never noticed how far we had walked until… We…walked until the sun reached the highest point in the sky…then…then…"

"Then what woman?"

Tal-ano spoke with great urgency, but his son went before him and kneeled beside his uncle running his hand on the woman's shoulder easing her worry. The woman wiped a dirty tear from her face and after breathing in heavily she continued.

"Then we found a river, it was blue and so clean, I had never seen a river like that before. We ran down to it and saw that it was not a dream, more than this green trees lined its banks and yellow flowers shone like little suns on the green boughs. We stooped to drink from it and the water was so clean and sweet, we forgot where we were and how long we had walked. As we gathered more of it, Ashira looked up and saw right before us the red peak of Shanadraska…"

The crowd gasped as she said this word and she broke into tears and thrust her head, shamefully into Celebrin's breast. He patted her head and stroked her hair as a father does to a child. Cidhrali has told him of that fabled mountain. Largely it loomed in the distance of their village, a bright red peak that was always surrounded by gray clouds. It lay a league away and was surrounded by a wall of high hills and deep clefts, it seemed impossible to reach the peak but apparently the women before him found an unknown path into the fabled land. Shanadraska was the beginning of the Land of the Kadjinai, the spirit world, where the elders claimed Celebrin came from. It was forbidden for mortals to enter that land and so they avoided it, for fear of angering the spirits, who, according to the elders, would punish the intrusion by sending the world into eternal darkness. Celebrin now understood why the women would not tell anyone else of what happened; in their eyes they had sinned against the ancient orders, he was the only one they believed could understand what needed to be done. The only problem was, though they thought of him as Kadjina, he had no understanding of such ancient traditions, much less how to correct them when they were disobeyed by accident. The crowd looked at him and he looked at the young woman and bid her to continue. She shook her head and then spoke, slowly at first then building into hysteria,

"She cried out with a scream that made my blood freeze, she ran into the shadows and was lost to us. Cidhrali stood and told us to stay together, but then the sun became shadowed and the world became dark as night. Then we heard cries and screams, shouting at us in an alien tongue, then they came from all around us, and arrows flew right at us. I became frightened and ran back the way we came, but something grabbed me and I fell to the ground. I turned and saw…a shadow holding a knife to my neck, his face was huge and flat and he had a row of teeth as big as ram horns. They were straight, pale and red as blood, his hair stood on end and when he grabbed me his hands were covered in bones and scratched at my skin. He shouted at me and grabbed my neck but before he did anything he screamed in pain and fell to the ground. Cidhrali stood there, knife in hand and she bade me to run. I did as I was told, Getsucuatil, I ran until I fell, by then and by some magic I found myself at the dried up spring, I waited to see if the others would come or if Cidhrali was behind me, but the evening was soon coming and I heard the howls of wolves, so I ran back here and found that the others were 

here…but…Cidhrali…and Ashira…were nowhere to be found. The pokuhu took them and we'll never see them again!!"

She broke into crying and fell to the ground; the other women came forward and tried to comfort her, as Celebrin stood. The villagers looked at him in both awe and fear; some saw him as the savior Kadjinai, who had come to teach them how to survive the darkness of Khamul's city. Others now saw him as part of that demon world that had taken Cidhrali from them, related in some way to these monsters that attacked their women. An elder stood, Tokuhop, an Ashtegu chieftain who had long chastised Kwartegu for trusting Celebrin. He shook his aged hands into the air and said to the crowd,

"See what evil we have done by marrying one of our own to the Kadjinai; whatever good Getsucuatil has done, his remaining here has angered the other spirits and they have seen fit to punish us. We have come too close to their lands and now flaunt this unnatural union on their borders, we must leave, before we are decimated by these monsters, these Pokuhu!"

Tal-ano spoke then and criticized him,

"And where would we go Tokuhop? Into the loving arms of Khamul I suppose? Or what about the Abache to the East who have ever been our enemies and only friends when there are Haradi to kill? If the Kadjinai wish to punish us, then why send Getsucuatil to us? The Kadjinai were ever our friends and teachers, it is the Pokuhu who do this to us and they need no reason to do so! We entered their land are surprised by their actions? The Kadjinai are just spirits and should understand that what these women did was a mistake, they will right the wrongs of the pokuhu…"

The man was interrupted by Celebrin, who had at that time decided upon a course of action,

"We waste time talking about spirits and demons; I am alien to these lands and have never seen the Kadjinai that you speak of, for I come from the west. The only thing I know is that my wife was taken by these monstrous things and evil spirits or no I will get her back!"

Then Tokuhop then spoke, pointing his fingers at Celebrin,

"You would defy the judgment of the gods? Then you will bring great evil to us…have we not suffered enough!?"

"I care not for the judgment of gods, least of all when they are interpreted by your split tongue! Any god who uses violence or fear to punish their people is no god of mine, and does not earn my respect. Stay silent and stay behind if you fear them so, for you will only impede the journey. "

With that Celebrin stormed off to find Thingalad, Tal-ano first remained behind and then followed his brother-in-law. Dhraloku walked behind him but his father turned around and said,

"Where do you think you are going?"

"To find my aunt, just like you and uncle!"

"You will do no such thing, you are far too young. You will stay behind and prepare our people to leave these lands."

"I am not too young; I am as old as you were when you first went to battle!"

"But that was against mortals, I go now against immortals; whatever Cedlal says, I still fear them and fear the retribution that will come from our blasphemy. You must lead the people if we do not return, take them into my lands and keep them safe there. Tell no one, not even your mother of what we have done, for if they knew that we defied the edicts of the gods there will be no safe place for us."

Tal-ano placed his hand upon his son's shoulder and led him back toward the village; he waited until the youth was out of sight and then turned to follow Celebrin. No others came to help them, spurned by the fear that Tokuhop had begun to sow; so elf and man alone set out to find the path to Shanadraska that was found by accident. They journeyed to the spring and found that it was now blocked by stone, and in the darkness Celebrin saw that it was marked by an 'X' in red. Upon inspection Celebrin found it to be a red dye, and not blood, he then saw light foot prints upon the ground, which were invisible to Tal-ano. He followed them and discerned that four had come and gone to place the stone, perhaps as a warning to the villagers. The two never spoke, until they neared the red mountain which now loomed in the distance, a great shadow in the sky, blotting out the stars. The man said in a calm voice,

"Your words in the village…you seemed unlike yourself. You were defiant, where you usually are reserved."

"What is your point?"

"My point is that you acted…human, for the first time I have ever known you; you were afraid…not of the gods, but for Cidhrali."

"You forget brother, I am not of this land…but why did you come? If you still fear the gods, as you call them, why defy them now?"

"I love my sister more than anything Cedlal; I lost her once…I will not lose her again. Even if I must die or be damned in saving her…and I will not let you perish alone for it."

Celebrin chuckled,

"I am Kadjinai remember…"

"I learned long ago, my friend, that you bleed as the rest of us do, if others want to believe you are divine let them. As for me, you may not be human, but you are certainly close to it.

The elf looked at the man in wonder, Tal-ano no longer looked at him as a divine being, and he saw him as friend, more so as family. Unlike the others, who always treated him with reverence, as a thing alien, Tal-ano treated him with the same care as he did with his own kind. Celebrin's only exposure to mortals had always been of the former kind, this new way endeared the man to him and for a brief moment 

made him long to the company of his own kind. A rustle in the wind broke his thoughts and reminded him of their task. They came upon a small and gnarled tree, standing alone upon a cliff side, the slope of which was too steep to go down with horses, it was here that the foot prints of the women led so the two descended from their seats and tied the two horses to the tree. Surveying the surroundings Celebrin espied something foreign in the darkness, a faint glimmer showed in the valley that lay beneath them; it flickered for a moment and then was hidden again as quickly as it had appeared.


	26. Fighting to live

The two hunted the landscape for any sign of the women's path, but the footsteps had been erased, whether by the fickle wind or an intentional hand the elf and man could neither tell, for they seemed to have disappeared from the cliff face. In the silence of the night Tal-ano heard the gentle flow of water and a faint sound in the wind, he gave a hushed grunt and headed toward it. The elf, who had heard nothing grew curious and felt rather a heavy weight fall upon him, the smell of the herbs that grew at their feet was stronger, older and more alien, the air was filled with an invisible mist and the stars themselves shone brighter in that valley. So overcome was he by this feeling that he lost the eager Tal-ano in the shadow and by the time he realized it he had walked into a strong stream that splashed and sparkled in the light of the stars above him. He stepped out of the water and looked to the North, there above him stood a grand shadow, silhouetted by the immeasurable stars around. Menalmacar, the star-hunter stood at its pinnacle, winter had come and he did not even realize it, such were the seasons in this land. As he stood agape and flow of the water called out to him and he knelt at its banks and he thought he had surely gone mad, for it seemed as though a song was emanating from the crash of the water upon the stones and the roots of trees. It spoke in a voice that he could not understand and it seemed muted to him, for it had been years since he last opened his elvish mind to the thoughts of unspeaking things, not since he lived by the sea with the lord and lady…and Alphindil.

As his thoughts came to his companion the water seemed to cease flowing, or rather slowed to the point that it became as a solid thing, it spoke in an ancient tongue that sounded akin to the tongue of the Noldor. In years to come he would learn their portent and the message that was given to him. The voice of the river was old and young, alive and other-worldly; to him it sounded like the voice of a young girl and an old man speaking at one,

"Elorn, Elorn…"

It beckoned to him in a soft and alluring tone,

"You have come back, come back though you long abandoned me…drink of me, take me into you and taste the sweetness of my stream, for I am…"

Suddenly the sound of a bow twang broke his trance and he rolled to his right and an arrow pierced the frozen surface of the water, returning time to its proper motion. The elf turned and saw a shadow race toward him, a flint like knife drawn and raised high, it cried out a shrill and high-pitched battle cry. He leaped to his feet and charged at the being, aiming low at his hips. The tactic proved far more successful and the two fell onto the ground. Celebrin on top held the wrists of the attacker and wrestled for control of the knife, in the shadow he could not see the face of the attacker but the grunt sounded female and the spirit seemed worn and without strength. He wrested the knife from the shadow easily and as he did so the shadow crumpled up into a ball and wept,

"Please do not harm me, I only wanted to go home…Please just let me go home…"

The voice was unmistakably Cidhrali and upon being reunited with his wife Celebrin called out her name, but she did not see him only batted away shadows that were not there. Taking a rag that tied back his hair he dipped it into the stream and poured it over her face; waking from her nightmare Cidhrali looked up and at first was frightened but when Celebrin called her name she thrust herself into his arms and held him for what seemed like hours. The rush of feet and the sound of horns filled the air, immediately and without thinking they ran from where they sat and ducked into the shadow of a nearby mass of stones. They breathed heavily as figures stepped out onto the embankment, they were dressed in horrifying masks that had barred teeth and wild grasses or the hair of beasts growing in every which manner covering the top portions of their bodies. Upon their wrists they wore gauntlets made of the bones of wild cats and tigers, and for clothing they wore shells from river creatures, which shimmered like fish scales in the night but made a horrible clatter of sounds, both frightening and disorienting. They spoke to each other in a strange tongue and inspected the ground, one the largest of the group thrust his hand into the stream and pulled out the arrow that Celebrin had ducked. Seeing the path of feet he sent two of his companions in the direction of the stones.

Celebrin gave Cidhrali the knife and motioned for her to run when he stepped out of the shadows and drew them away from her. She nodded, as though shamed by something and cowed into the shadows like small frightened child. Celebrin waited for the two creatures to come closer and inspect the stones; he then drew out Lin-Gladaear, which sung lustfully as he did so. The two were drawn by the sound of the steel and one, blindly walked into Celebrin's downward slash; he gave out a brief and chilling cry and fell into the stream behind him. The other called out to his companions before rushing to meet the elf head on. In a smooth and fluid motion the elf turned and reaffirmed his stance, striking upward as the other came rushing upon him. The strangers' armor of bones and shells cracked and shattered upon meeting the cool dwarf-made steel, blood sprayed over the rocks as the battle crying pokuhu fell to the ground.

Three others looked at him in amazement and their attention was drawn to the glistening crescent that emanated from this new force's hand; like lightening it shimmered and its battle song rang out to them. The leader sent his two other companions forward and together all three rushed him; Cidhrali ran down the path of the stream and called to herself the attention of the leader who changed his course and like a swift owl flew over the stones as his companions met battle with the crescent armed stranger. They wielded long clubs lined with sharpened black stones that clashed against the steel; the two gave a good fight to the elf now that they were prepared unlike their companions. Yet the steel of the dwarf-made sword was stronger and sharper than their clubs or their armor; and the elf moved swift in movements he learned long ago in his youth. In less than ten minutes the two pokuhu were upon the ground, one without an arm and the other clutching his chest in agony. Within his arm Celebrin felt a sharp pang, and looking upon his wound he saw a black stone protruding from his shredded skin.

He pulled it out and winced in pain, and would tend to it as soon as Cidhrali was safe. He heard her shriek and raced toward her screams. Yet as he ran more shadows came out of the darkness and gave cries of battle. Arrows flew over his head as he ran behind the pile of stones, in the distance he saw Cidhrali struggling with an overwhelming shadow above her. Then a great cry of pain rang out through the sky and the two figures ceased moving; a pain in Celebrin's heart crushed him as he saw Cidhrali ceased moving. The figure above her stood and walked toward Celebrin; the elf felt a rush of anger and rage come upon him but as he was about to rush to slaughter the creature ropes and lassos encircled him and he was thrown to the floor by the blows of clubs and fists. A foot was placed upon his neck and the sound of vengeful cheers rang out above him, as the leader stepped forward. The others carried torches and in their amber light the shadow walked forward, his mask was terrible to behold and he laughed but it was an uneasy laugh; surrounded by his companions he fell to his knees. He coughed and blood spurt out of the gaping maw. The great leader then fell onto his face and there was silence.

Celebrin looked in awe as the leader twitched and then ceased to move, his blood spreading upon the dirt beneath him, the some seven other creatures spoke in hushed tones. Then they all turned to see an empty space where Cidhrali once lay. Celebrin felt joy in his heart, knowing she had gotten away, but he was pulled up against the rocks and soon had a knife pointed at his neck. A masked creature snarled at him and spoke in a rash and violent tone; they pulled at his hair and kicked him several times, bringing him to his knees and coughing out blood. He could not understand anything of what they were saying, but knew they were enacting their vengeance on him; suddenly and arrow flew through the sky and brought down one of those gathered around him. The other creatures were still in shock when another arrow came and pierced through the neck of another creature causing him to wail uncontrollably before falling into the stream, face down. A battle cry was heard in the sky and a shadow came racing toward them, Celebrin used the distraction to cut himself from the bonds, using the knife he kept on his waist belt. The creatures, thinking it was some new menace ran from the shadow, leaving Celebrin lying on the floor, cutting his bonds.

"What took you so long?"

He said to Tal-ano as the man helped him to his feet. The man looked at him apologetically and then the two shared a brief chuckle before Tal-ano motioned to another shadow coming toward them, wielding a bow and arrow. Cidhrali had gotten a hold of her senses and though covered with blood, came and embraced her husband, dropping her brother's bow to the ground. The three then followed the course of the stream, hoping to find a way out; they came to a great gorge, which caused the water to leap off the cliff into a deep ravine. The morning sun began to turn the sky from a midnight black to a deep and velvety purple. The Morning star ascended the sky and his lesser companions faded. Cidhrali looked ashamed and spoke little of what had happened only saying that she was taken by the creatures and had no idea how long she had been gone. When the other two told her she was only captured for one night, fell upon her knees weeping, the strain and the pressure taking hold of her at last. Still they were out in the open then and so Celebrin led them toward a nearby cave; it was not deep and seemed to have long been abandoned by any creature, but covered by deep brush. The opening was fortunately accessible only by a small walkway for the opening looked out into the gorge; there the three rested from their ordeal, Tal-ano and Cidhrali slept deep sleeps, but Celebrin kept watch, sleeping as he had been trained to do, with both eyes open, allowing his mind to wander the paths of dreams.

_Sorry for the peter jacksonesque blood scenes, but what is one to do. _


	27. Of Rain and War

_Wow, it has been forever and a day since I last submitted something on here, hopefully those of you who have been reading this story have not lost interest. I apologize for that long, long long hiatus I took but real life does tend to invade valuable hours of fanfic writing. I struggled a lot with how to continue this storyline and not get mired in things. I figured the best way to do that is to return to the characters and story Tolkien created for a time and work from there. Hopefully this new direction is the one I should take. PLease read and Review, I have been out of fanfic practice for a while and fear I may have gotten rusty._

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Rain fell in hard torrents upon the roof as thunder rolled in the distance; these midsummer storms often came with great surprise from the Misty Mountains. Even so there was much to do and many places to go in the city of Imladris; the Lord and Lady's building plan had turned the small refuge into a city, which now out spanned Caras Galadhon, and taking guidance of the annual monsoon season that caused the waters of the Brunien to flow to three times its usual height, they connected the many larger centers and markets by a simple system of arched stone and wood covered bridges. As Arwen looked out at the city her father had built she could not help but wonder what the new seasons would bring, the wet and torrentous rainy season, the warm coming of autumn's stillness, and the bitter cold of winter's chill. The seasons blended into paintings in the hidden valley and the elves lost count of time and no longer counted the passing of the years, preferring rather to stem the passage of time, subconsciously disregarding it so as to not give it power over their lives.

She however was different. The years meant everything to her, the rising and setting of the sun and moon she counted as a tavern keeper counted the coins at the end of the night, when the customers had gone home. The seasons and years brought with them subtle changes in the world around and while most elves neglected the passage of cruel time, which destroyed and altered the world they had come to think of as theirs, Arwen, daughter of Elrond and Celebrian, counted them as though counting the moments till there was some finality in her daily actions. She knew in the depths of her mind that there was something akin to an ending in her life. Yet no matter how long and hard she looked into the mists of time and space, she could not fathom the future before her, for all was shadows and empty sounds.

"How long has it rained? It feels like forever!"

She removed her eyes from the curtain of water outside of the window and turned them to her anxious brother who slouched in his seat, dropping the knife he had sharpened to a flawless degree of cutting ability.

"It has only been a few days, Elladan, it will let up, it always will."

His twin, seated across the way bit into a leather strap and tightened the knot he had tied on his travelling pack. Arwen put down her book running her fingers over the silver embossed Cirth runes written on the green leather jacket; they read in the ancient almost defunct Doriathic Sindarin, "Accounts of the Founding of Doriath and the Hinterlands of Beleriand, of Thingol's Realm". She looked up at both of her brothers and said matter-of-factly,

"It has been four weeks…Elladan is right it does feel like forever."

Her eyes grew tired from her reading and she placed her book upon the cushion she had curled up on. She stood and stretched her shapely form raising her hands to the sky like a sapling after the spring defrost. She almost was as tall as her brothers, then again they were always rather short by most elves' standards, having inherited their height from their father rather than their mother's side.

"It can't have been four weeks!"

"The rains came in on 45 Lairë, according to the count of days it is already the 14th of Yávië, the cooks are already preparing the autumnal squash soup."

Her brothers looked at her quixotically, and Elrohir, smiling mischievously quipped,

"With someone whose nose is in books all the time you do have a rather adept grasp of time."

Arwen smiled shyly as she placed her book softly upon the sofa and stood; her bones and muscles ached to move and run and dance. Usually at this time of year she was in her grandparents' home in Lothlorien, rejoicing in the dry weather of Southern Greenwood- riding Arato, her white mare, beside her Grandfather, along the ridges and defensive walls of her Grandparents' and Uncle's realm. Her brothers felt the same, they were used to riding and walking in the wild world outside Imladris; being cooped up inside made them stir crazy and they were often found playing pranks on their father's ministers and advisors like they used to when they were children and young ellyn.

A sudden creaking of a door caught the three elves' attention as their mother entered the study where they lounged; Celebrian glided into the room followed by her main attendants and ladies in waiting. They were rather loud as they called her attention to matters of state and marketplace disputes which she was in charge of while her husband was away in Mithlond. At the end of the large group a golden-haired elf of indeterminate age sidled into the room with two cloaked individuals. Celebrian looked more stressed than usual but handled each complaint one by one. She sat at her husband's desk and opened his ledger in which her scribe wrote down appointments with the head of the Inglorion clan and with the merchant's association for the next day. She sighed heavily as in the din she ordered her main lady-in-waiting to escort everyone one out and send in Anamereth, the head cook. Her head attendant awkwardly escorted the other attendants out of the door from which they came and left Celebrian slouching in her husband's chair oblivious to the presence of her children. As she scanned the room she saw the three pairs of eyes looking at her and she twitched from being startled.

"What are you doing here?"

She said at first, not expecting them to be there, but then she regained her composure and smiled at her daughter who began to approach.

"How long have they been at it?"

She said referring to the barrage of complaints and voices that had just left the room.

"Since 6 this morning, they didn't even wait for me to bathe. Honestly it is as though they cannot run things for themselves when your father leaves."

"I doubt it is that bad, they probably think that you will give in to their demands more easily than father would. More so if they badger you."

,said Arwen as she readjusted her mother's coronet which had been braided into her silver-white tresses

Celebrian looked at her daughter with a smirk on her lips and an upturned eyebrow.

"A shrewd answer my Daughter. And you are probably right…poor fools if they think they can bully me. I am the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn for Varda's sake; I could run a city by the time I was in my tweens."

The elf-lady chuckled as she winked at her sons who smiled in response. She scanned the study again and was surprised to see three more figures standing by the bookcase by the entrance to Elrond's study. The golden haired elf approached and bowed in a gesture of respect, Celebrian stood and patted down the wrinkles in her crushed purple velvet gown,

"Glorfindel, it is very improper to eavesdrop on a family conversation, no matter how dear a friend you are to us…"

"I meant no offense Lady of Imladris, I would have left with the rest, if my companions did not demand that we stay put."

Celebrian looked at the two other figures, one cloaked in muddy grey and holding a gnarled wooden staff, the other covered in a near flawless white and holding a black staff. Celebrian sighed and waved the three over, smiling as a frumpy elder elf-lady entered into the room, wearing a white apron and covered in flour and smelling of cinnamon.

"Ah Anamereth, if you would oblige, food for seven to be eaten in my husband's study. I know it is long past the luncheon hour and don't want to put you out..."

The Elf-lady, Anamareth waved off the apology and said proudly,

"For the house of Celebrian, my lady, the kitchen is always open, I will have my daughter prepare something sweet as well for you and your children."

"No need to make Melethnil work harder…she is already preparing for the feast of Elrond's return."

But by the time Celebrian said this, Anamereth had already exited the study. The elf-lady sighed and smiled, shrugging her shoulders,

"She is the best cook in all of Elvendom, yet she is incredibly pushy; I myself have gained several pounds since she has been employed in Imladris."

Glorfindel smirked as he looked at the twins,

"The Lady of Imladris is beauteous in both wisdom and form, I am sure it is a trick of the mirrors my Lady…Besides you cannot fault her Sindar hospitality. "

"You are a brilliant warrior, Glorfindel, but a horrible liar."

Her attention turned toward the two Istari who sat smiling and bemused but who still wore worry upon their brow. She placed her folded hands firmly upon the desk and looked at them in an unbroken gaze, her piercing blue eyes shining like sapphires upon her alabaster skin. Saruman began, he being the firmer of voice and confidence, his face seemed less weathered in the short time the Istari had been living and laboring in Middle Earth on whatever errand they had been sent on. Yet before he could speak Celebrian calculatingly said.

"And what brings Mithrandir and Saruman to my husband's study?…For it is said even now among the elven lords that when Istari come to your door, they rarely seek tea and shelter. Could it be that they seek a contingent of spear-men from Imladris to aid King Ciryaher of Gondor in his bid to seek revenge upon the Southern Lands? "

Saruman, clearly surprised by Celebrian's knowledge of southern affairs, sat mouth agape and looked quixotically at his traveling companion; at this Mithrandir smiled like an old grandfather and spoke,

"Much has already passed by your door and your ears Lady of Imladris, but as to our purpose it falls short. We know Elrond Peredhil has great influence in the courts of Arthedain and Rhudaur, it is to them that the Gondorians seek aid and reinforcements. Ciryaher does not desire to remove the citizens of Arnor from Middle Earth, yet only desires men to take up the guard of Mordor and defend Osgiliath until his mission is complete."

"And what mission is that, vengeance? Such a thing is no just reason to go to war or to command an army of young men to sacrifice their lives."

Arwen's voice came out clear from behind her book, Glorfindel looked at her and said,

"Gondor lost its king to the Haradhrim, young lady Arwen, such a loss is a terrible blow to the might of Gondor and cannot go unpunished. "

Mithrandir spoke at this,

"While I agree with Arwen concerning vengeance I doubt any tactic of diplomacy would work in negotiations with the Haradhrim. They are ruled, some say, from afar by Khamul the Shadow of the East, Lieutenant of Sauron's armies in the Great War. Diplomacy works only when the two parties have an interest in keeping peace. The Harad have no such interest, nor do the Eastern peoples who long ago allied with the Deceiver. War seems to be the only option."

Arwen grew silent at this and returned to listening, still contemplating the events of the wide world around. Celebrian sighed and said to the three before her,

"Elrond is not here, and I do not doubt that what you ask for will not go unanswered by him when he returns. Tomorrow we shall meet him upon the road to Arthedain and make a detour to the courts of the three kings. Perhaps their minds will be turned toward the plight and grievances of their southern kin. Until then please take up lodgings beside the river and rest your weary bones. Imladris is open to you at all times Mithrandir."

At this a bell rang and servants entered the study bearing trays of fruit and cheeses, which were laid out upon a stone table in the center of the study. The wine was poured as the Istari and Glorfindel stood to take some of the fruit and cheeses, not having eaten a proper meal since they began their journey three days ago. Arwen stood from her place and went to the window; she knew in her heart of hearts that King Ciryaher's cause to go to war was unjust, but at the same time the Harad had long been enemies of the Numenoreans and their descendents. Was this just one more battle in a war that began many centuries before?

She often wondered if this type of infighting among the Second-born was common, as it apparently was in the First age of the world. Even so, who was she, an elleth born of Sindar and Noldor lineages to question what drove people to turn against one another? Had not her people committed atrocities upon one another for what seemed like unjust causes to? Ciryaher was waging war to avenge his father's death, Feanor waged war to recapture a handful of jewels. She wrapped her arms around the book in her hands and watched as the storm clouds broke and revealed a bright noontime sun peaking over the Misty Mountains, causing the white churning water of the Bruinen to glimmer pale and silver. The rains had ended, and war had begun.


	28. War in the East

Mithrandir wiped the sweat from his brow, the heat of the Southern lands caused him to assent to the shaving of his beard and the cutting of his hair, the profound effect of which was to make him look like a scared white and gray cat perched upon the body of an old man wearing gray robes. The boy who cut his hair and beard was shivering the whole time, not from cold but from fear. The Day before the forces of Ciryaher, King of Gondor, were ambushed as they passed through a sea of high dunes, which were twice the height of a man. The battle went ill and they lost several men before the old wizard sent flames and flashes of light upon the attackers. He had not wanted to use his abilities so openly especially since his regiment was supposed to be entering the Harad Empire stealthily, but the only way to get out of the trap was back the way they came and that way was blocked by scouts from the dark kingdom of Khand, who had been alerted of their presence no doubt by the Easterlings. Though Sauron had gone, his followers were not too interested in giving up the power they held in the southern lands, a power they controlled through merciless tyranny.

The old wizard beckoned his men to sit now in the shade of a small mountain which over looked the desert they had just crossed. He looked westward and saw a faint glimmer on the horizon, no larger than the size of a child's thumb - that was the Sea of Rhun which they had passed almost 12 years ago. The journey to the East should have only taken 6 months from the onset of the war at the shortest, but at the King's counselors' insistence the entire force of Gondor's army marched into the Eastern desert, in a full-on attack at the Haradhrim. The lack of water was the first enemy they could not beat, many men died on the road, turned back, or lost their way as they hallucinated of springs and waterfalls where there were only sand dunes and dead remnants of clay villages and the dried up skeletons of rivers. The horses they brought died of heat exhaustion or went mad with thirst.

Upon reaching the famed city of Khamul the army of Gondor was greeted by a vast army of black robed men, wielding crescent shaped swords, axes, and spears and shouting cruel curses upon them. And they rode the men of the west down without a thought; the heavy steel armor of Gondor crushing the soldiers as horse hooves trampled them into their steel-forged coffins, burying them in the sand. The young King was gravely wounded in that battle and it took great effort to escape from the defeat and into friendlier lands nearer the coast. This was the first year of the war, 1015 years after the Last Battle was fought in the lands of Mordor and Sauron was defeated. Now a mere 14 years later Ciryaher began his quest again, having replenished Gondor's armies and regained support for the war he began long ago. This time he did not march full on into Harad but sent scouting parties into the Southern Empire.

Some from the North through the Eastern road of the ancient dwarves of Beleriand and others from the southern road, first going by ship and landing in the newly reclaimed port city of Umbar. Mithrandir was sent with the Northern regiments since he had had dealing with the Dwarves of Khazad-dum and learned much of their own trade with the Eastern remnant of their people. Saruman was sent Southward and operated his regiments from the port city. The two wizards had become generals in King Ciryaher's army after they rescued the king from certain death after the disaster of the Plain of Fire, nigh on 14 years ago. The fortunate youth ceased listening to his father's counselors and instead learned to listen to his own wisdom- revealing to be an adept strategist as well as warrior.

Mithrandir's memories flittered back into the present as thunder clouds began to roll over them, the men rejoiced at the chance of rain. But the old wizard knew different, this was a trick of the desert, for these storms smelled of water and but only promised fire, ash and lightning, and deposited their rain further away in the mountains. He ordered his men to seek shelter and sent scouts to the other bands of the regiment to take care. He wrapped himself in his old grey robes and huddled beneath an overhang of red rock as crackling bolts of lightning descended and danced upon the sandy soil.

He measured the distances in his mind, he and his regiment would reach the Mountains in three days- there they should find water and some game according to King Kilimazur's maps. In the mountains, if luck held them close they should find the gathered forces of Ciryaher who had entered the desert a year before them. They had not heard any news from him in almost 11 months and Mithrandir began to worry that Gondor would be left without a king and more importantly without an heir.

The next night after the storm the full moon peered over the mountain tops as Mithrandir led his regiment into the first roots and foothills of the Orocarni. The silver light of the moon shone off the soil and colored the ground in a deep blood-red, not an entirely welcoming hue. At any moment the men looked up into the rocks around him and expected archers to fire upon them and end their lives. Mithrandir's ears pricked up and said in aged voice to the captain at his side,

"Draw your sword Captain Lothgal, I fear we may need it near the end of this night."

The stern captian looked at the stars and said,

"How are we sure this is the path King Ciryaher has taken, his scout's message was cryptic at best and then we have heard nothing for almost a year, he could have been ambushed in this very land."

"I think if the Shadow of the East had slain the last King of Gondor he would have made that fact readily clear…No my boy, I think at worst your king is only a captive, and at best a fugitive, that should explain the reasoning behind the fall in communication."

The captain chortled,

"I know your heart yearns to make me feel better Mithrandir, but your words are far from being worthy to complete the mission the heart sent them on."

Mithrandir laughed at himself and looked at the captain; the boy of 20 years smiled back at him, his black eyes glistening in the moonlight. He had become Captain only two days prior when the previous captain succumbed to the wounds he suffered in the ambush. And yet in those two days he had shown himself to be a capable leader and the men took to him well, despite his age.

"Narmacil…"

He began to speak when suddenly the whispering twang of two arrows being shot into the air broke the eerie silence of the night and soon the regiment was surrounded by a bright, burning circle of flames. Into another trap they had walked, Mithrandir cursed himself for having smelled the distinct smell of brimstone and not registering that it could be a trap. He immediately raised his staff and the fire whined and twisted as he sought to control it. He could hear shouts in a foreign language being yelled out and the sound of feet running toward them. He shouted out, in the elvish tongue in case the enemy understood the Common tongue,

"Tangado heid Dunedain! Dagor na vedui or ammen"

Hold your positions Men of the West! War is at last upon us!

Beyond the fire the old wizard could see the figures gathering; like the Harad they held crescent shaped swords that glimmered cool and silver in the fire light and they dressed in sable garments. Yet their hair hung heavily over their shoulders, whereas the Harad tended to keep it short or completely shorn. They also wore gray masks over their faces rather than the bright crimson ones; furthermore when they heard him shout they stopped where they were and looked about them. Immediately they shouted in their tongue and started backing away from the fire. A voice clearly rang out in the crackling of the flames.

"Kha-le! Kha-le Teshashi! Ki'opa atli!"

Immediately water was thrown on a portion of the circle and opened a gap in the circle of flame. A tall figure stood where the gap was and walked through the opening, holding his hands up. Mithrandir could feel a piercing gaze and though the figure was covered in rags the heat of the flames did not affect him. His dark black hair was tightly wound in a braid down his back and the robes he wore were not black but in fact gray, and were richly embroidered. The figure laughed and said in clear Sindarin,

"Gwenwin in enniath, Mithrandir. Sedho mellyn nin, nuitho i-megil!"

It has been many long years Mithrandir. Settle my friends, lower your swords!

Upon hearing the voice the men of Gondor lowered their weapons, and Mithrandir looked quixotically at the stranger and guessed who lay beyond the mask,

"Aran Ciryaher?"

The figure laughed, and the laughter was strange and yet familiar, it was as though the voice had known long years of weariness and yet no longer wore them like a heavy cloak. It was a free laughter, a more open one,

" U-nan Aran edain Mithrandir… dan telinnant ania athra ammen"

I am not the King of Men, Mithrandir, but he came by us long ago

The figure removed the scarf wound about his face and revealed a darkened face which shimmered brilliantly in the flame, like bronze or burnished amber. There was no mistaking the expression or the features, for his gray eyes glistened in the silver moonlight and fiercely shone out with hidden hues of blue and green. A deep purple scar graced the right side of his face, in the shape of a sickle, and the leaf-shaped points of his ears revealed themselves beside his sable hair, which shimmered with jewels and stars upon its surface.

Mithrandir, the Istar, looked upon the changed figure of Uial Celebrin and stood in awe; he did not carry himself with the grace of an elf any more but with the weight of a man. His face smiled and the glint of wrinkles could be seen, ever so faintly, at the edges of his eyes and mouth. In appearance to the untrained eyes of mortals the elf looked no older than 25 yet to the eyes of Mithrandir, he looked aged, as though a light had left him and no longer made him look flawless as the others of his kind. Mithrandir stood still while the elf embraced him. Mithrandir smiled and said,

"How…how are you alive?"

"By luck and effort my friend, as all others who live in this land, I live by luck and effort."

With a nod of his head the elf ordered the rest of the flames put out and when the smoke from the circle was still rising from the ground, he led the band of Gondorians into a dark cave nearby. The other cloaked men of the East silently redrew the circle of sulfur and repaired the ground so that the tracks of the heavy foot soldiers could not be seen by even the Eagles of Manwe. Silently the elf led them into the cave and the eyes of dozens of cloaked figures watched them guardedly. The smell of fresh water filled the Western men's noses and they salivated for the first time in weeks. The elf bid them to sit in the circle with Mithrandir beside him; a boy dressed in blue robes brought him an urn of water, out of which stuck a reed. The urn was large but no other cups were brought to the travelers, and the elf dipped the reed into the urn and the soldiers of the west could hear the gentle plopping sounds of water swishing around the clay urn. This was torture to them but they waited patiently as they were within a nest of Eastern men, with one wizard and apparently and unexpectedly an elf of the West.

"These people are famous for their hospitality Mithrandir, but your war has made them skittish about the West. They do not share their water lightly anymore, with men of pale alabaster skin, or in your case, red, blistered skin. It is more precious to them than silver or gold. You must prove yourself worthy of their trust."

"And how do we do that?"

The elf smiled and brought the reed to him mouth; he wrapped his parched lips and tongue around the reed and sucked the small droplets of water from the rod slowly rivulets of water ran down his cheek and neck and the lump in his throat danced with the effort. He placed the reed back in the urn and handed it to Mithrandir saying in a whisper,

"Observe and learn…and hope your men can do the same."

Slowly the urn was passed around from soldier to soldier; the reed held no water whatsoever but merely became wet with the precious element. Some of the soldiers sucked what they could and passed it on to their comrades as Celebrin had done. Others, the captains, lieutenants and other noble men stuck the straw in the urn and used it to suck gulps of water down their throat. Once the urn had returned to the elf, he dropped the remaining water onto the ground.

One Lieutenant cried out in anger,

"You fool! That could have served us all well until our thirst was quenched!"

A grey-robed Eastern man, cursed and raised his hand to beat the offending officer, however with a strong look in his eye the elf stopped him and rose to his feet. He then said,

"Ishta k'aapi tan Kontorri"

The Gondorians were asked to get up on their feet and taken out of the cave- as this was done a few were sorted out and taken to chambers in the back of the cave. The rest were forced out of the cave and told to sit outside beneath the stars, and were given nothing else. Uial stopped Mithrandir, who looked puzzled, and said,

"It is a pity that some could not be patient, they must wait to know the hospitality of the desert peoples."

"You mean they get nothing? After crossing the desert without water for days and food for more than that?"

The heat and exhaustion of the day had begun to get to Mithrandir and he lowered his eyes waving off the anger; the elf looked at him with pity and said,

"What are these people to do? Give their water to every stranger that passes by, be he friend or foe? They are different from the men of the West my friend, water and freedom are sacred to them and must be treated with respect. The officers in their thirst gulped down the water without a care for the person next to him or even how much water was in the urn or if it could quench the thirst of all of them. So they must wait outside."

"And what of the others?"

The elf smiled and escorted Mithrandir to the dark recesses of the cave. There the wizard was greeted by small lanterns which dimly lit the inside of the cave; they made several turns and the silence turned to a loud din. They came to a large chamber in the cave, lit with several lanterns and a hearth and there sat many more grey-robed men and several green and blue robed women and youth. They sat in circles alongside many of the other Gondorians and passed around plates topped with nuts, dried fruits, cured meats, cheeses and breads with hard crusts. In the far corner of the chamber stood a well from which women in blue drew water and poured into clay urns. The Gondorians were given towels, clothing and a bucket of water and sent to a makeshift shower, which was screened off from the common room by white sheets. They emerged cleansed and wearing gray clothes similar to what the men wore outside, only less martial in nature. These clothes were gently embroidered with strange characters and figures and were made of light cotton. The armor of the Gondorians was taken and placed in a heap beside the entrance to the common room. Mithrandir looked at the elf who patted the old man upon the shoulder and handed him towels, clothing and washing water saying only,

"Sleep well Mithrandir, you are now under the protection of the peoples of the 7 Nations of the Red Mountains. No enemy shall find you, because no enemy knows we are here."

The elf walked back toward the dark area of the cave where the armor was kept and he strode out to the outside of the cave where the disgruntled Gondorian officers and noblemen sat outside the entrance. In clear Sindarin he told them to sleep beneath the stars until morning and sung to them a song of the West, playing it softly upon an Eastern harp, which was made with strings taught over the shell of a tortoise. They would have complained or argued, or fought, but they knew they had walked into unknown lands and were they to lay any hand upon the elf an arrow was sure to hit them from the darkness. So they tightened their belts and lay upon the cold ground, wondering what treatment their comrades and general were getting inside, hoping it was worse off than theirs. The song the elf sang was of the Elder Days, and their minds were calmed and their hunger forgotten enough to allow them to sleep. That night many of them dreamed of flowing rivers and cold soothing rains.

The next day the blazing sun shone out from the top of the mountains and the elf called them to wake up. He gathered all the Gondorians together and told them to prepare for a march. Mithrandir stood, reenergized and well rested as did a few other of the Gondorians, yet they kept silent about what they had experienced in the recesses of the cave.

On foot they travelled long throughout the day, winding through paths in the red mountain lands, and the scenery around repeated itself becoming monotonous and unrecognizable. Mithrandir walked alongside the elf but they did not speak for to speak in that land was to cause your mouth to dry sooner. They broke for lunch after they had climbed a hill and took shelter beneath a large rotten tree, near where a river used to run. As the elf drank from a small skin of water Mithrandir walked toward him and said,

"This land is desolate yet, it is clear it was once green and fertile, what happened?"

"That no elf can tell you Mithrandir, but the elders say that this land was once the land of many rivers, and the soil gave many crops, vegetation and supported great herds of beasts, both wild and domestic… Then the Dark Lord came and damned the rivers; he built large aqueducts beneath the land and fed his dark city and its growingly dependent subjects. The great sea dwindled and faded, leaving behind the great desert. Trees died and the forests of the red Mountains died away or were taken to build the City, Khahalazhul… Yes that is their name for it, the City of Khamul, Khahalazhul, which means in the tongue of the Harad, City of the Black Teeth. "

The old wizard looked at the desolate land around them and looked at the hidden path on which they now walked,

"Where are you taking us?"

"To your king Mithrandir, he walked by this way nigh on a year ago and came upon our cave, the one you had just past. He was taken captive and questioned, though none knew the tongue he spoke. They sent for me and I came not but a few months ago and sat with him for many days; this is how I knew you were coming and so set a watch along the paths to the mountain. He did not trust me at first until I revealed to him that I was born in Beleriand and was once a member of the courts of the Sindar."

"Is he safe?"

"As safe as he can be Mithrandir, he resides as a captive of the People of the Crow, yet there they treat him well, yet for their safety they keep him from contacting his people and from his men who are scattered among the other tribes. They await sentencing from the other chieftains of the 7 Nations. I shall not go into too much detail, for all shall be revealed to you soon enough."

The elf stood and started their march again; they walked again beyond sundown stopping only a little to allow them time to eat what provisions they took from cave. As they walked the elf sang a low song in a strange tongue, it guided his foot falls and soon the rest of the regiment were following his pace, sometimes slow and methodical and at other times quick and longer of stride. When the crescent moon was seen in the East again and Earendil burned in the west over the setting sun, the elf came to a halt and sent out a whistle. From the red rock appeared more people from the east, their skin as dark as pitch and their eyes black as night. Their tightly-curled tresses were tied high upon their head in a bun. They were dressed head to toe in shades of red, rust and scarlet and they wore gold jewelry about their necks and upon their waists they wore rows and rows of gold coins. They wore loin cloths and knee high boots made of died doe skin and not much else. A large man among them, whose dark hair was piled high upon his head and yet still hung down to his shoulders, stood tall over the elf and placed his hand on his shoulder; with a smile he spoke the tongue of the Southern men, which many in Gondor had heard before.

"N'tapa Getscuital! Koychu napti ngku."

Welcome friend Getscuital! We have been expecting you!

He ushered them into another cave, this one hidden by a large creosote bush and was basically accessible through a hole in the ground. The hole turned out to be an exhaust hole in the ceiling of the cave roof and a long rope descended down to a large hall beneath the earth. The Gondorians were again sat in the circle and another urn was brought to the tall man whom the elf called Ngkaymu. Instead of a reed the urn was brought with a small cup and the black man, having dipped the cup into the urn, brought out a golden hued drink and placed the cup on the elf's lips, tipping the liquid into his awaiting mouth. After this was done he handed the elf the urn and signaled for him to do the same. And so the urn was passed around with the person receiving it giving water to the person next to him. A few Gondorian noble men who were sitting beside their servants were unaccustomed to serving and spilled the drink onto the ground, for which a switch was beaten upon their hands. The Great big black chieftain laughed and said something to the elf which caused him to laugh, filling the great round room with the sound of bells.

When it had been completed the big black man stood and clapped his hands, suddenly young men of lighter skin entered carrying salted pork meat and flattened bread. The meal filled the room with a rustic, almost charred smell, but to the awaiting Gondorians it smelled heavenly. The elf motioned the Gondorians to lay on their sides as they ate and whenever they reached into the center for food they were to give that food to their neighbor, as they had done with the water. This elicited silent scoffs from the noblemen but hunger and thirst had been an apt teacher and so kept their mouths silent. That night they slept in a circle resting their heads upon their comrades for no pillows or blankets were given to them. The elf climbed the rope to the starry sky above them and found Mithrandir smoking a pipe and mending his grey robes.

"Ngkaymu likes you, Mithrandir, he thinks you are funny."

"I was not intending to be humorous Uial, or should I call you by your new name Getscuital."

The elf sighed,

"I have many names among these people, so many in fact that I do not know who I am unless they speak my name."

"And Getscuital means you are who?"

"It is a name of one of their gods, a wind god who brings both water and death."

"Such a strange name, how many others do you have?"

The elf looked at the stars,

"Roughly 10, some are like Getscuital and derived from divine beings; and others are formed from the observations of my actions. Do not look at me so Mithrandir! I do not enjoy being referred to as similar to or in likeness of a god but you shall see, when they observe your talents they will find a name for you as well. For me my only claim to divinity is my long life and eternal youth, I cannot control the flames or even cause the water to fall from the heavens."

Mithrandir smoked his pipe and sent oblong circles into the air,

"I did not know the Southron men were allies of yours. They have long been allies of Sauron, I find it odd for you to trust them so."

"There is much in this land you do not understand; enemies can be friends in disguise, and there are those in the south and far-east who have no love for the Dark Shadow, because they remember his cruelty. Ngkaymu and his men are of the Ayab-Mamuk, the Shepards of the Mumakil, a culture that spans the Southern deserts and the Jungles of the unknown subcontinent, taking with it almost over 60 languages, or so it is said. Do not be so eager to trust in Gondorian scholarship, for they see the world as they desire to see it, made of two kinds of men, Numenorean and Barabarian. When you have lived here as long as I have you shall know that not all Barbarians are savages, and not all Numenoreans civil."

The elf stood from where he sat and descended the rope again, leaving Mithrandir to finger his cropped beard and twist it in his hands. The elf had changed much in appearance it seems, but inside he was still a hurt Moriquendi who raged against the station he was placed in by the Noldorin. And perhaps he was right…since he began journeying in the Lands of Men and elves, Mithrandir Olorin had seen much that surprised him and most of it was unlooked for.


	29. The Seven Nations of the Red Mountain

The next day they awoke with a start and the black men ushered them quickly up the rope ladder; almost resorting to smoking them out. When the Gondorians had all exited the mouth they saw that a large rock was placed over the opening sealing the black Southron men in. The elf saw their faces and said to Mithrandir,

"The entrance to the cave is changed every night; the Ayab-Mamuk do this to prevent the enemy from noticing any patterns in their movements. The hall you saw below is one of several hidden throughout these lands and a great labyrinth is carved under the mountains so that they can move across it without being seen."

Narmacil the young captain asked, haltingly,

"Why could we not travel through these caves? It would be easier and we would have much more energy without the sun beating upon us."

"Because young one, the labyrinth does not lead to where we are going, but south to the Plain of Fire, and that is where we do NOT want to go," said the elf matter-of-factly and he strode off uphill toward the East, "Come, we have two more day's marches before we reach the land of the Crow, where your King resides."

The land began to change a little as they marched, as they got higher and higher into the outskirts of the Orocarni the weather became drier and yet cooler, the wind did not burn as much and the mountains began to be placed behind them, when before they merely towered in the vague distance. A few small trees could be seen on the top of the mountains, their wiry frames blowing in the upper airs and the soil became redder, though less blood like and more akin to the color of a pomegranate or rust. The sun reached the zenith of the sky when they stopped again. Mithrandir looked upon his men and saw the weariness in their faces; he then looked up at the elf and said,

"The sun is their enemy here, could we not make the journey slower, or at least stop more often,"

"We shall travel as speed requires us, Mithrandir, if your men are tired it is because they carry around that heavy armor like a second skin. Tell them to shed it, it will be no protection for them if we are met by the forces of Khamul, this land requires speed and agility, not force of arms."

The elf stalked away to the top of the hill and Mithrandir wondered if he had been this demanding as an elf or if the self-imposed exile made him irritable. The old man smiled in his own way, knowing the elf's harsh words to be emphasizing the need for haste. In a bold move he told his men to bury their armor in the sand or to remove the large pieces of sandstone and bury their armor under that. Most obeyed his command and strapped themselves in leather jerkins over their mail which were usually worn under the armor, their helmets were placed inside their breastplates and buried; they kept their gauntlets, which were heavily marked with lineages and family history.

The march began again and the journey became more pleasant as the men were relieved to no longer have to carry their heavy armor. They walked now at double pace and a few, Narmacil the captain was one, even kept pace with the elf and asked him many questions concerning the East. A few questions he answered and others he said only,

"You shall know the answer to the question, when the question is answered."

Patting them on the shoulder and doubling his stride. They covered much more land now and the hills began to be rocky instead of sandy and their foot falls were met with firm ground and no longer sinking into the soft, burning, sand. As the sun left the sky, the heat radiated from the ground and swept away the evening chill. The waning moon hovered over them when out of the darkness a figure stood in their way. The figure was slender but muscled and by the shadow's stance they could tell it was prepared for battle. A large double-bladed axe shimmered in the moon light but a cowl covered the figure's face. In a deep voice it said,

"Echeta erdha hepitelous, Pheobon… hoi Amadzones khalo-soridzhon teysh Bashilisaythous"

The figure bent its head and fell to one knee; the cowl it was wearing pulled back revealing a long train of braided hair, black as night and wavy in parts where the braid had come undone; using the axe as a staff the figure raised its head and showed a face almost as flawless as the elf's, the gentle contours of the chin and lips belied the appearance of a youth and soon it came to the Gondorian's minds that before them knelt not a slender man, or elf, but a woman in battle regalia. A leather jerkin tight about her chest and her muscled arms and legs jutting gracefully out of a tunic, which was worn over a scarlet skirt slit down the middle, revealing her boots and linen pants. Her appearance was stoic and unadorned and even her belt was devoid of heraldry or her face of the embellishments that Numenorean women were used to putting upon their faces. Yet when she rose to her feet she firmly held the double-edged axe and pointed it at the Gondorians, causing those closest to her to shrink back a little, it was clear she had control of the weapon, despite her slight frame.

She spoke some words to the elf and sounded angry, though respectful. To Mithrandir it was wholly strange, for the elf, who once commanded himself with authority, seemed now more humble and spoke softly with the woman. She listened and leaned on the axe, crouching near his mouth to hear him. They spoke for several minutes and slowly the Gondorians realized they were surrounded by shadowy figures, each one with a bow and arrow ready to be raised and fired. The woman looked at them finally, scoffed and nodded, waving off her compatriots; the elf came back to them and said firmly,

"Remove your weapons, lay them on the ground -- all of them - do it quickly now!"

He removed his bow and a sword, which they had never noticed, upon the ground the curved edge pointed toward him- its red scabbard glistened scarlet in the moonlight. He even removed a dagger that was tucked into his boots. The other Gondorians did as they were commanded and stood apart from their weapons; even Mithrandir laid his swords upon the ground, yet kept his staff close to him, leaning heavily on it. The woman's stern gaze went to him and she pointed with her chin at the old man; one of the shadowy figures held out her hand to the old man beckoning him to relinquish his staff. Mithrandir looked to the elf who only nodded, telling him to give them his staff. He relinquished it and stood tall, causing the woman to walk backward in awe as he seemed to grow higher than the trees, if there were in fact trees there. The woman nodded and the other shadowy figures picked up the weapons and walked away, with groans and complaints coming from the Gondorians, to which the elf held up his hand,

"Now comes the last test Dunedain; we are entering the lands of the Hamadjon, a land of fierce warriors who do not allow men to walk armed as if they are going to war. The only condition so that you are to be allowed to walk through this land and emerge in the land of the Crow is that you walk through it without sword or bow, it was good of you to leave your armor behind for such an act is an act of war and they would have shot you on sight. Trust in me and these, our allies, you will not be harmed while you respect my commands."

The elf nodded at the woman and she turned upon her heel and led them higher into the mountains; the hike was arduous, steep and short, for they climbed a sheer rock face and came upon a small village overlooking the Plain below. The village consisted of round, circular shelters which supported domed roofs made of tapestry, hide and fabric. The Gondorians were separated and taken to different shelters, roughly five per shelter. Mithrandir, the elf, Narmacil and two other soldiers were escorted to the central tent where the woman, who had met them on the road, sat upon a richly designed scarlet rug and removed her jerkin. Her breasts seemed to topple out of their leather prison and hung spritely in her tunic. She motioned for them to get comfortable and unbraided her hair, which took a long while.

A servant brought water and a basin to them and he smiled weakly as they met his eyes; he had a rather large nose and smooth face as well, save for the closely cropped beard, and when they were done washing he placed the water bowl upon the ground and then returned to his place by the entrance sitting upon his heels and tending to the hearth from where a meal was being prepared.

When their host had finished with her hair she spoke in the common tongue though with a heavy accent,

"I am sorry, Old Father, that we had to remove your staff from you, but we know of your kind and know that a staff, even in the hands of old men, can be just as dangerous as a sword."

Mithrandir looked at the woman, though the look of shock left his face, already he had seen many wondrous and varied things in these new lands and the unlooked for surprised him little. Drying his hands he said,

"You are astute to be cautious about me, my lady, but who are you? Our guide neglected to introduce you to us when we approached"

He glanced sideways at the elf who sat perfectly still, his legs crossed staring into the distance.

"My name is Hipholuta, daughter of Kazmira, daughter of Penthishulea, and so on to the beginning of my race and I am Chieftain of my people. Our queen is the Goddess Ashthera, who lives among the Utashtegu and it is by her will that you now live."

The servant brought forth steaming plates of food which he placed in the center of the six people, again there was round flat bread but also some fish and other dishes which were ripe with a vinegary smell. There was a long silence as the food sizzled and cooled; Hipholuta placed her axe at her left side and began to eat with her right hand. Narmacil was the first to speak and asked,

"Where have my men been taken? Why have our arms been removed from us, yet you are allowed to keep yours?"

The woman looked to the elf and said smiling, smugly,

"You truly did not warn them of us did you Pheobon?"

The elf smiled and said plainly,

"What would have been the best thing to say? Would it have been adequate?"

Hipholuta pointed at Narmacil and said,

"Your weapons will be returned to you- as for your men they are eating with my generals and enjoying the company of the Hamadzon, as such as they are given. I keep my weapon man-child because it suits me and these are our lands...by our will are you even allowed this far in, alive."

Narmacil would have said more but was cut off by the elf who spoke tenderly,

"Your husband makes excellent food Hipholuta, you did well in choosing him"

The woman looked at the apparent servant and smiled, she said playfully

"I would have wanted one with less hair, but we cannot choose the ones who shall be our mates."

Narmacil said shocked,

"The servant is your husband?"

"My name is Hipherom, and I am not a servant."

Said the man as he placed an urn of wine before them his chin caressed by Hipholuta tenderly. Narmacil furrowed his brow and accepted the glass of wine offered him. Mithrandir asked then, as a way to remove the tension,

"How is it that you speak the Common Tongue, we have not yet heard any Eastern People speak it."

Hipholuta took a drink of her wine and fingered a grape in her hand,

"We are not of the Eastern People, Old Father, my race was born on the shores of the Western sea, in the lands you now call Lebennin and Harondor. My forebear Khalipha, was chieftain when the Men of the Sea arrived and built the city of Umbar. We lived at peace with the Men of the Sea until the dark shadow came from the Bulcanosh, the fire mountain where the Dark God lived. At that time it is said by the Grandmothers that we left our homelands and began our lives as nomads, sending our men into your cities to trade. From this we have learned this Common Tongue you speak of, though here the common tongue is Alamb-Harad, and you will do well to learn it if you are to survive these lands."

She flicked the grape seed away from her and then motioned to her husband, who brought their guests pillows and blankets. They spoke more into the night about the movements of the Harad and the Khand, and what the council of elders would decide, concerning the fate of Ciryaher, who was held prisoner. Mithrandir could hardly tell whether Hipholuta was in favor of releasing and aiding Ciryaher or condemning him to death, she seemed highly favorable to both fates. He wondered what chance or fate brought these strange and divergent peoples together; the Ayab-Mamuk, the Hamadzon, the Uteashtegu, and the mysterious Crow. Right now they seemed content to preserve their own sovereignty from Khamul's power, yet the old Istar wondered, would they dare consent to aiding the Gondorians in their war. He slept that night, his hands folded over his chest, with fingers intertwined; hearing the soft breathing coming from Hipholuta's bed, and there glistening in the moon light that peaked through the shelter's entry way, lay Deama, the axe ready at the Chieftain's hand. He did not understand this form of hospitality, where he felt as though he were held as prisoner and yet respected- not once did she refrain from calling him Old Father, he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

The next morning Hipholuta and her soldiers were nowhere to be seen, the elf saying that they went to secure their borders and prepare for the council that was soon to take place. The men of the makeshift village had washed their clothes and prepared food for the Gondorians, they also lay their newly polished and sharpened weapons upon the rocky ground, shining coolly in the bright morning sun. Hipherom, Hipholuta's husband, spoke in a clear western tongue,

"Our Chieftain Lady Hipholuta has judged that it is safe to allow you to pass through the rest of Hamadzon land, to the land of the Crow, with your arms. She has also instructed me to guide you to the Land of the Crow and Pheobon shall return now to his own lands. We shall travel on the edge of a creek so prepare your skins for when we leave it there will be no more water for the rest of the day. I will also instruct you to do no harm to any stag or hind you see, for they are sacred to us."

With that he took up a walking stick and slung a heavy pack over his shoulder; his youthful frame carrying the weight gingerly upon his shoulders. The elf bowed to the men and pulled Mithrandir aside,

"The land of the Crow is less than a day's march from here but Hipherom shall lead you through other winding paths; it is crucial, when you reach a land of standing rocks, to tell you men to keep their arms hidden, for the Crow and the other tribes will be watching you and judging your movements. I shall see you in a few days, for when the council meets there will be much to decide. When you arrive in the place Hipherom takes you ask for Dhraloku, he will know that I have sent you and will give you hospitality. Navear Mithrandir, and may our next greeting be in more peaceful times."

The old Istar nodded and placed his hands upon the elf's now bent shoulders,

"Thank you for your help Master Uial, it has been most welcome and greatly appreciated."

The elf smiled and looked to the sky,

"Uial… it has been so long since I have been called that name, I wonder if it still is my name."

The elf bowed his head and then walked back into Hipholuta's tent. Mithrandir caught up with the rest of his regiment and whispered among his men the instructions the elf had given them, so that by mid day when they reached the land of the standing rocks their swords, bows and arrows were buried within confines of their packs. Hipherom would speak to none of them save Naramcil who was very young and deemed worthy to carry on a conversation with him. He told him of the ways of Numenorean women and how they adorned themselves or flirted with the soldiers, the idea of which Hipherom found humorously ridiculous, and he wondered aloud why Gondorian men would desire such women. They become engrossed in a heated argument when a bird call echoed from afar, causing Hipherom to pause and drop his walking stick.

Mithrandir felt an unease come about him and felt as though a thousand eyes were upon him, he looked to the left and to the right and saw nothing out of the ordinary, but it felt cold beneath the hot summer sun and his bones rattled and chilled. He raised his staff and closed his eyes, he sensed him near, the dreaded lord of the Eastern lands; an odd mist surrounded them and the sun was dimmed in that hour. The Gondorians began to quake as Hipherom shouted,

"Flee, flee for your lives! Foes…"

He would have continued but a black arrow pierced his neck and silenced him forever. Wild whooping sounds came from around them and dark figures leapt from the rock around them, arrows whisped through the air and a great shadow loomed over them, Khamul, Lord of the East stood in their path and he held a great axe in his hand. His shrill cry went through the air and all was silent.

"Welcome, sons of the West…to my kingdom!"


	30. The Journey to the Crow

_Thank you for sticking with this story for so long given my sporadic postings. _

_Shemyaza: thank you for your comment on my last chapter, I hope I can keep with what you said and post it, if not for my sake then for Cel's _

_I ask anyone who is reading to please read and review my work, I am facsinated to find out what others think of this little tale that comes out of nowhere. If something confuses you please don't be afraid to ask questions, I'd be happy to answer them. This story is clear in my head but its hard to fully translate my thoughts and imaginings for this story onto the page or screen. Unfortunately somethings do get cut or convoluted in an effort to not seem heady or overly detailed. lol Anyway onto the story..._

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The shadow that fell over them was instantaneous, the bright light of the sun was covered by a shadowy veil, yet it was an unnatural covering of the sun for the sky was cloudless and the sun was nearing the west far from where the Orocarni rose. The light of the day was dimmed and the wind ceased to move the brushes that scattered the landscape; the towers of stone around them stood menacing like silent black sentries fencing them in, preventing escape, whereas before they were glimmering pinnacles of sandstone that caught the light of the sun in multi-hued radiance. Though the heat of the day could still be felt it was a heat that chilled them to the bone especially when they looked upon the shrouded figure before them. Khamul the Dark Emperor of the East stood upon a flat stone towering above them. He wore a bright gold necklace that hung heavily upon his robes and seemed to float above the ground as though the very being before them did not exist. In the center of the necklace hung a large blood red ruby- though solid it glistened like a liquid held in place by some unknown power. It was the size of a human heart and though the sun was dimmed it shimmered and shined with an unholy light; were it lying upon the ground or upon another creature it would have looked as though it were made by the hands of dwarves or elves, but its beauty was marred by the presence of the Nazgul Captain.

The Gondorian soldiers unsheathed their hidden swords as shadowy figures arose from the dark recesses of the stone towers. Their bows drawn, they wore black boots and blood red scarves about their faces; their garb was that of the Khand: a long black or purple tunic that hung down to the knee, which was worn under a large black leather belt from which hung a curved sword made of black burnt steel; sable pants they wore which billowed at the end, where they were tucked into the boot. Their hands were wrapped in leather straps and upon the knuckles were embedded sharp pieces of glass or stone that glinted in the dim light of the ruby. All the Gondorians stood where they had been, prepared for battle, even if the presence of the Captain of the Nazgul sent shivers of fear from their groin to the base of their skull – all save for Narmacil Eradanion, who knelt by still twitching body of Hipherom, which lay in a pool of blood stained earth. Mithrandir the Istar stood facing Khamul, Black Emperor of the East, his face girt, his lips firmly shut, yet his eyes wide with surprise. The Dark being laughed and spoke in the accursed tongue of fallen Numenor,

"Why do you scurry, brothers, with this federation of rats and vermin, who are not worthy of your mighty presence? Leave them to me and I shall return your beloved king to you; for I am lord of this land and desire peace with Osgiliath the shimmering city."

Mithrandir placed his staff upon the ground and stood up straight,

"The only peace Ciryaher, King of Gondor, will have with the Eastern lands, is a land free of your foul hand. Leave this land and go into obscurity with all that is left of your Master."

A fiercely cold cry went up into the air causing the men to cover their ears in horror, Mithrandir could not tell whether it was a laugh or a cry of pain for it sounded like both; it sent a deep shudder into his heart.

"Ah, the infamous Incanus, we have been looking for you… Lower your staff and join me by my throne…"

Mithrandir lifted his staff and a wave of air seemed to pull at the dim curtain surrounding them; the men of Gondor for a moment halted their fear and moved into a formation with their backs toward each other in a defensive circle. The dimness returned and the old Istar gripped his staff firmly with both hands across his body saying with no break in his booming voice,

"The only time I will stand by you is with you in chains…for such is the fate of all despots!"

Khamul cried out again and raised his gnarled hand into the air, removing from his sable robes an immense axe that sang cruelly for blood, he charged the gray figure robes flying out like black fumes emanating from a chimney. The great axe was brought down and Mithrandir raised his staff, though only of wood the staff deflected the blow shattering the great axe with a thunderous crack. The Shade stepped back still holding the remnants of his weapon and Mithrandir fell to his knees, his arms shaking with the impact. The darkness around Khamul grew and a cold piercing cry was let loose throughout the land; the Gondorians fell to their knees as their hearts shook within them. Mithrandir could feel, in the deepest recesses of his heart the power of something as old as he- a dark power that reached into him and wrapped its self around his heart suffocating his hope and as he opened his eyes the music of Arda, which he had never ceased hearing was suddenly silent. The red ruby of Khamul glowed fiercely like a fading and dying star and like a fire turned all else to despair; even the Khand could not stand it and began to strangle, slaughter or maim their comrades in fear, like wolves who attack their own kin when desperate for food. Mithrandir bowed his head trying to struggle against the dark silence and he placed his left hand upon his breast and felt a sudden warmth there- the music could be heard again, though distantly like a lark's song in a thunderstorm of quiet. The ring Narya glowed upon his finger, hidden beneath his gray robes and he felt his heart aflame again. He planted his staff firmly in the ground and with great struggle brought himself to his feet. The fire in his eyes strove against the darkness of Khamul and for a moment there was silence…and then a horn rang out in the distance.

* * *

As Pallando rang out his horn he felt a sudden shift in the darkness that had come over him, the blood in his veins returned to their flow and he was brought back to Arda. Below him in the sun scared valley stood two figures staring at each other yet the sand itself moved and the earth seemed to shake with their strife. The men of Khand had already either killed each other or ran in fear, while the men of Gondor crouched in a huddled mass covering their ears with their hands or arms while still holding onto their swords. The young man beside the Blue garbed Ishama-hne covered his eyes from the bright light of the sun and looked into the dry valley below.

"Shalquidlku, should we not help them! I have one hundred men and all are willing to try their hand at killing the accursed one."

"No Dhraloku, now is not the time for men to be brave and swords will not help you, but call your men to dispatch the Khandi before you, they at least can be felled by human weapons. This is Ishama-hne work now."

The young chieftain of the Utashtegu whistled and his warriors appeared garbed in black robes, almost indistinguishable from the garb of the Harad, yet they wore a sash of turquoise signaling their alliance to the Blue Ishama-hne before them. Pallando, called Shalquidlku in the tongue of the Utashetgu, raised his staff and the hollow instrument emanated a sound like rain falling upon a tile roof or like the thunderous roar of a thousand horses running across a plain. He called out in a tongue foreign and alien to the young man at his side yet the words could be heard below them by the ears of the grey-clad old man.

The Darkness around Khamul lessened and he turned his gaze upward and gave a shrill cry; through the dim curtain he saw a bright blue light and the sound of water and wind broke the silence surrounding the Dark Emperor of the East. The shade twisted in his garments and like a swift cloud spun in a whirlwind kicking up the dirt around him obscuring him from the view of all.

When the dust settled Mithrandir opened his eyes and found himself lying upon the ground, his staff still held out in front of him warding off the evil that had fled. Light and the burning sun returned to the world and seemed like a welcome respite. The Gondorians too lifted their eyes from where they coward them beneath their arms and shields. Around them lay the dead bodies of the Khand warriors, some had been hewn by their own comrades in madness others had arrows coming out of their necks and backs. All that gathered assembly looked up on the hill and saw a vast force of nearly one hundred warriors, all clad in black robes and turquoise sashes crying out in victory. In the midst of them Mithrandir saw a familiar face, though it was darker and fairer than he remembered his piercing blue eyes reached out from all that long distance and a smile revealed luminous white teeth, he greeted him in that same tongue from across the sea,

"Greetings old friend, Arien shines gloriously today and she blesses our meeting well."

* * *

In the setting of the sun Mithrandir and Pallando knelt where Khamul once stood and where a pile of shattered robes lay lifeless and without form. Water-skins had been brought to the Gondorian soldiers and they warily took them from the Uteashtegu warriors. The ambush had left them paranoid and many wondered if these people of the East could still be trusted. Mithrandir looked upon his fellow Maia and said,

"I did not know these Nazgul feared you so, you should have been our guide from the beginning."

"There is little that brings fear to Khamul's heart, if indeed he has one still, but I am not one of them. There is a malice that he bears with him that makes him greater than all the others even though he was always been second to the mighty Captain of the Nazgul. I think the reason he fled was because he did not want to try his hand at two Maiar, especially one as powerful as you."

Pallando smiled and his soft wiry fingers pawed at the sandy ground sifting the shorn garment he cursed and stood slowly using his hollow staff as a support.

"The necklace he wore upon his frame is gone; I had wished he left it in his haste. It is a dark and evil thing but I suspect it is the reason he has grown to great power in the East above his Kin save the Witch-King."

Mithrandir stood beside his kin and looked at the mixed forces of the East and West; a few of the Gondorians who knew Alamb-Harad spoke to the few of the Utashtegu who knew it as well and both sides translated for their friends. The only place where there was silence was in the center, where the body of Hipherom lay wrapped in linens by Dhraloku the Chieftain of the Utashtegu and Narmacil the young captain of Gondor. Pallando sighed,

"The pass Hipherom would have taken you through is being watched by Khand and Harad soldiers loyal to Khahalazul; we came to warn Hipholuta and Cedlal before they sent you on this path but it seems we arrived too late, at least your men escaped death."

"Cedlal?"

Mithrandir said, a question burning upon his brow as brilliant as day- Pallando chuckled and said matter-of-factly,

"He with one hundred names, the elf you knew as Uial in the West. Cedlal is what he is called among the Utashtegu, it is by and large the only name he accepts as truly his own in these lands… now the path ahead is made clear. I myself shall lead you through other paths to another destination for the road to your King Ciryaher is blocked to you and your men."

"Is nothing done in this land secret? Uial himself knew of our coming even before we stepped foot into the Orocarni and Khamul knew the road we would be on! I am beginning to feel like a piece on a chess board."

Pallando smiled and patted Mithrandir on his back,

"Gondor is a fool if it thought the Valley of Fire was an unwatched entrance to Khamul's land; it is both his best defense and our best aid. Khamul often sends scouts into our lands and there are many spies we cannot identify, it is why there is constant movement of the Seven Nations. Every so often one of them slips through our guard and Khamul sends more to learn of our movements. As of yet he knows we are here and that we oppose him, but his reach cannot yet take hold of us, nor discern where our refuges lie. His appearance here, Olorin, is either a sign that he is close or that he is desperate…"

Mithrandir would have said more but he was interrupted by the appearance of a young man, roughly 20 years of age. His skin was dark and luminous and his gaze burst forth deeply and darkly from his almond shaped eyes. His hair fell to his shoulders yet was tied back in the manner of elves in war. He wore a small turquoise pendant in the shape of a great cat, around his neck and along his bare arms and chest were slight ridges that made winding designs upon his form. Dhraloku spoke Westron as Hipholuta had done, with a heavy accent, many of his t's and d's were softer making his speech much more musical as he emphasized the flow of the vowels when he spoke.

"We must leave this place…the Khand were but a fraction of their usual raiding parties, I think the Dark one will return with more men and catch us unawares in the night. We should head to the Tower lands, there at least we can defend ourselves until the Council convenes."

Pallando nodded and motioned toward the body of Hipherom,

"And what shall we do with him? We have no time to build a bier."

"The one called Naramcil has volunteered to take his body back to Hamadzon lands…He has such courage and justice in him…I am humbled by this…I did not expect it in one so young and from your lands."

As he said this last phrase he looked at Mithrandir with respect and bowed his head toward the old man in a manner not unlike an elf, or at least a certain elf he knew. All Mithrandir could do was smile and nod his own head; now was not the time for inquiries for just as soon as the sun set the Utashtegu called forth their horses and placed upon them the burdens of the Gondorian soldiers. The young man called Dhraloku whistled and a pure black stallion trotted toward him. The animal's obsidian coat was flawlessly black and shimmered as the last rays of the sun caught it- in the ensuing night it became harder and harder to see for it blended with its surroundings. Narmacil was given the black robes of a Utashtegu so that he could pass unseen in the night. Mithrandir walked over to the young Numenorean and asked him,

"Why did you volunteer to do this? You know the way is perilous and this is a foreign land to you? What makes you think that you can even find the Hamadzon, much less reach them alive?"

"Because, Mithrandir, it is the least we could do. You know as well as I that Hipholuta took a chance on defying her laws and trusting us; she showed us hospitality and from what some of the men have told me, she did so with the disapproval of her own generals. How can we leave her husband here to the Khand and whatever other creatures inhabit this land? She at least deserves to know that he was not alone when he died."

Mithrandir's heart was softened by this and he felt pity and fear for the young man, but also drew form him a certain strength that was like a blessed fire. He kept his eyes upon the youth as he rode off silently in the direction they had come, hoping that he lived through this war to see his family again.


	31. Debates and Deliberations

_It has been a VERY long time since I last updated; I hope you all will forgive my long absence. It is very hard to keep writing with grad school and work piling up. This is an incredibly long chapter that I couldn't bear to break apart. A lot of things are going on here and I hope they are understandable, as always constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged._

* * *

For many hours into the night they had walked, 100 Utashtegu warriors all clad in black, 98 horses, 23 Gondorian men and two Istari. The tracks they would have made would have been easy to see even at night yet in the rear of their troupe several Utashetgu lagged behind sweeping away footprints and horse dropping so expertly that it would have taken an expert tracker several hours to even discern their direction. Every so often at different intervals 10 or so Utashtegu warriors would break off from the group and make other paths, some leading north toward the looming mountains; others would tread south toward the Valley of Fire. Others made their way back the way they came and others merely lingered perhaps waiting for the main body to leave out of sight before making their own winding paths. In this way were the paths of the Utashtegu kept secret for many detours and dead ends were made to lead the trackers of the enemy into ambushes or to keep them off track.

Pallando spoke much to Mithrandir about his years in the East and how the Seven Nations came to be; it was not a long tale for it had only been in existence for a short while and had grown quickly. It began primarily in the confederation of separate roaming bands in the Orocarni; people who had fled to the mountains to separate themselves from the whips and torments of the Harad loyal to Khamul. Some were rebellious groups and tribes of the Harad, others were of the Khand and others were merely independent peoples who fell under Khamul's foot. The Utashtegu were once one of these small bands and were the most welcoming, inviting these desperate groups into their lands. In a few short years the Utashtegu had formed alliances and marriage bonds with several of them, forming a great network of tribes who joined their warriors under the leadership of the Utashtegu chieftain, the young Dhraloku.

In the matter of a few short years the Utashtegu had grown and began offering their protection to other maligned tribes and peoples near the Orocarni. Under the direction of Dhraloku, Pallando and Allatar the fledgling nation began to grow more boldly, even bringing rumor to Khamul himself and other nations. It was at this time that Khamul faced the army of Ciryaher the first time and busied himself with the thwarting of Gondor's attack. In that short time the Utashtegu and their small allies expelled Khamul's forces from the Orocarni. Khamul, having defeated Gondor in its first assault upon Khahalazhul, sent his forces to recapture the Orocarni, yet even his influence in the lands of the Ayab-Mamuk failed him and his assault force was less than was needed to retake the easily defensible Mountains. And so, just as the desert had been Khamul's greatest defense, it had been his greatest defeat when he tried to retake the Orocarni with a massive force, fed only on one river which had its source in the mountains. So Khamul retreated back to Khahalazhul to defend his Western borders from Gondorian attack from Umbar.

Charged by this small victory other tribes and peoples came by various ways to the Orocarni and thus began the forming of the Seven Nations, which was in truth several networks of allegiances but named after the first seven "nations" who gathered and defended the Orocarni from attack: the Ayab-mamuk, the Utashtegu, the Crow and their allies, the Hamadjon, a splinter of the Khand empire, the Mayab, and the Kashri. They and their refuges were now spread throughout the roots of the Orocarni and some even had enclaves in the very heart of the Khand Empire which stretched out to the Eastern Sea. All this happened in a few short years and was maintained by a secret gathering of leaders and representatives called the Council who ruled their own peoples separately and maintained their own independence rather than transfer power to one individual, regardless of how adept they were at leadership. Pallando admitted,

"Things move slower than anyone would like, they have been deliberating helping Gondor for several years, it was not until Ciryaher stumbled into these lands last year that their debate has seen any movement. I think after yesterday's attack things may move quicker."

The two Istari sat in the dawning morning beneath the shade of an over-hanging cliff; by the time they set up camp for the night before the traveling band of over 100 men had dwindled to the 23 Gondorian soldiers and the two Istari. Yet every step they took was watched and every so often an Utashtegu warrior would meet them on the path and speak to Dhraloku. By the time they pitched the camp Dhraloku bid them goodnight and went into the wild desert alone saying only that they slept in safe lands, though they were out in the open. When morning came they found water and food beside the fire along with three young boys who had long bows and slender arrows; they were not dressed as the other Utashtegu warriors and the almond shaped eyes were much more slanted, their skin lighter and they did not speak Alamb-harad the common tongue of the East; these were children of the Khand Empire yet of one of the rebellious bands that opposed Khamul. Beside them stood Dhraloku, youthful still in his own way, as though the entirety of the surrounding war did not touch him; as grave as Celebrin was for an elf, Dhraloku was youthful and spirited for a mortal. Perhaps this is why men are drawn to him, thought Mithrandir, he promises a peace they hope for, a freedom from the tyranny they now live under. The gray Istari turned to Pallando and asked,

"Surely this youth could command the attention and devotion of all those warriors, could he not move this Council to side with Ciryaher?"

"Indeed yes, Dhraloku is well loved and respected by all the members of the Seven Nations and were he to ask for their aid they would gladly give it to him. Yet the Utashtegu know very well how great power placed in one man's hand, even with good intentions, can corrupt, it is how they lost Khahalazhul to the might and power of Khamul."

Mithrandir looked at Pallando with a question upon his brow, which was read quickly

"According to their legends the Utashtegu were once farmers in the Khahalazhul valley and they built the city as a marketplace for trade. Khamul took over and coaxed one of their leaders to take control of the whole city. And through this man he and his ilk took control of the whole valley and turned it into the desert. The Utashtegu have not forgotten how they fell, and will not, at least for the time being."

After they were fed and the young Khandi boys sent away they began their march through the rocky hillsides again, Dhraloku leading as Uial the elf had done before, picking out paths that twisted this way and that. The young chieftain hummed to himself and walked lightly upon the floor, to the point where he left little in the way of tracks and spoke often to Mithrandir whom he called "Grandfather". They spoke often of the West and what manner of people lived there; the youth seemed to know a great deal about the Tales of Beleriand and often asked about what happened to the elves, which he called Kadjinai- earth spirits.

The towering pillars of rock around them became taller and taller, almost the size of mountains and slowly they realized they were walking through an old dead river bed that spanned wide as a great lake. The towers were like tall islands that would have stood menacing in the river's flow. The mountains lay beyond them to the West for they had circled the southern finger of the range and had re-entered the valley of fire, which was dominated by these towers of red stone. A yellow river to the west was all that remained of the dried up river bed and yet it was still a sight to behold for it was about the size of the Anduin and flowed warm and slow. No vegetation grew beside it save for a few minor bushes and stunted trees, but here and there a few scattered remnant of people could be seen gathering water at the river's edge and sifting out a large amount of yellowish sediment just to make the water more clear. Dhraloku led them to one particularly large tower and stopped. He turned to Mithrandir and said

"Grandfather, you shall follow Shalquidlku and I up the tower, your men must remain upon the ground. If they wish to be safe they can climb the other towers but only you can follow me and no other."

If he wanted to Mithrandir could have easily refused and demanded his troops follow him but instead thought it best to follow the young man's orders. He ordered his men to climb one of the smaller towers which had a long slope that made the climb less strenuous for them. He followed Pallando and the young man up the rocks, every so often using his staff as leverage to get his body up the steep climb. Suddenly and without warning the rocks and slippery sandy ground of the incline gave way to actual caved stone stairs. How and why these steps found themselves carved into the red stone towers he could not fathom and looked toward his fellow Maia with a question laden upon his brow. Pallando looked at him with a smile and said,

"It looks familiar does it not Olorin? It took me a long time as well but these towers are indeed the feet of Illuin the tower of old. How easily I had forgotten that it once stood towering over the highest heights of the Orocarni- lighting the North of Arda."

"And this Valley of Fire, is the sea bed of Helcar is it not?"

"Indeed it is, the land has changed much since we last walked it. The sea is no more and the very spring of Cuivienen has dried up or located its self elsewhere, once the forests were cut and burned by the wars that ravaged these lands."

A slight sound from the youth silenced them and they continued their assent; looking over the edge Mithrandir saw that his men had reached the summit of the tower he sent them to. It, like all the other towers was flattened on the top producing a wide table on top. He also saw that on some of the minor towers there were others encamped there; he saw different banners and tents of different peoples and cultures. He could discern a small encampment of Hamadjon with their rounded and domed tents; and also some of the Ayab-Mamuk with their bright red banners. Half an hour had passed and Mithrandir felt the air grow drier yet cooler and enjoyed the respite from the heat; it was also at this time that they had reached the end of the stairs, which broke off and made ascent to the summit impossible. They halted for a time taking in the wide view of the surrounding area.

To the North lay a wider plain filled with more of these towers; they were laid out in a circular pattern and Mithrandir remembered they were placed in a spiral pattern each at different heights and widths climbing higher and higher till Illuin reached its pinnacle where a lamp burned brightly, ere Morgoth Bauglir destroyed it. To the West lay the foothills of the Orocarni, which arched Northwest in a cresent till the center of the mountain range and then they arched Westward until the great red mountains ended at the beginnings of the Iron Hills. To the South lay the vast Valley of Fire and beyond it a dark speck could be discerned amid the distorting vapors given off by the sandy abyss. This dark speck was the dark pinnacle of Khahalazhul, the tower from which Khamul commanded his forces and controlled his Empire. To the east lay the golden river, wide, muddy and slow moving; the river cut in a southward trajectory toward Khahalazhul in a wide bright golden arc. And finally, toward the farther East the Valley began to slope upward again into a distant hill area, beyond which human eyes could not see.

A slight whistle of a nightingale pierced Mithrandir's ears and for a moment he thought, _A nightingale? Here? In this wasteland?_ But suddenly it was made clear when a thick rope descended from the top, notched in equidistant points as a form of ladder. The old man smiled, knowing the nightingale call was obviously the work of the elf, a sound which only the Doriathrim , as of yet, could produce flawlessly. The young man climbed up the rope effortlessly, with the grace of youth and the muscled dexterity of a trained warrior; Pallando did as well, slinging his staff over his shoulder, producing a strap as if from nowhere. When Mithrandir grabbed the rope he marveled at how light it seemed and how it could have been made given the lack of vegetation anywhere in sight. He then realized that the rope had been fashioned from the fibers of human hair, for some parts of it were pitch black and others lighter brown and others, strangely red or gold. When he ascended the top a hand was thrust out to help him with the last foot. He looked up and there in the amber glow of the setting sun stood Uial, elf of Mithlond, Imladris and Lorien. He smiled gravely and wore what would have been considered in the West scandalous. Unlike the full head to toe coverings he wore when Mithrandir first saw him, the elf now wore a loin cloth and a red cape wrapped around his shoulders and nothing much else. His smooth chest supported turquoise and obsidian necklaces, which also incorporated different bundles of bird feathers. Each bundle signified an independent tribe in the nation of the Utashtegu.

When Mithrandir stood at last he looked about him and found that the tower they stood upon could have fit two large halls of the Gondorians yet also understood why only he could have ascended the tower and not his men, for the entire summit of the mesa was filled with a variety of people in different garb, some familiar to the dress of the Harad or Khand, and others were altogether strange. Some wore headdresses of feathers or crowns made of iron with flecks of silver; others wore loin cloths and some wore full robes; some wore blues and others green, and still some wore colors that had not been seen in the halls of men and elves in the West. Yet one thing combined them in their difference, all their faces, save those of the elf, Pallando, and Mithrandir were covered by some veil, scarf or helmet- for even Dhraloku had covered his face with a black scarf. Each delegation sat around a fire in the center; the fire was clearly symbolic for it was small and unnecessary given the heat. To the East sat a delegation that looked primarily Khand by their dress; they wore black and green silk clothing and even had shells blended into their jewelry, _obviously a sea-people_ noted Mithrandir.

Toward the South sat different tribes of Harad and the Ayab-Mamuk, grudgingly sharing a place beside each other as people of the south. To the West sat a delegation of Hamadjon and beside them Narmacil who sat to the left of a tall woman Mithrandir assumed was Hipholuta by the familiar double-edged axe she held in her hand. Narmacil gave a slight smile to Mithrandir reassuring him he was safe still. To the North, finally, sat the leader of the Crow, he was tall, even when seated, and his long straight hair fell over his shoulders and onto his firm bronze chest. He wore a crown of black feathers and he held a staff upon which hung gourds that rattled like rain when they moved.

His chin was smooth and rounded and his piercing black eyes seemed teeming with a quiet flame. He looked upon Mithrandir with a general reserve, cautious and yet inspective; in front of his face he wore a gray scarf that covered his nose and mouth. To his right sat Ciryaher, at least in face and form it seemed to be Ciryaher- he now had a full beard surrounding his chin and jaw and his hair had grown beyond his shoulders in large wavy curls. His formerly white tunic was now slightly beige from age and use and parts of it had been repaired. His leggings were now mostly made of patches and did little to hide the fact that he had grown from the youth he once was in just a short year. His shoulders were broader, his arms thicker and covered with more golden wisps of hair. His bright blue eyes shone out from a sun-reddened face and he appeared to be smiling at the old Istar; he was not bound, which was a blessing yet he sat on the floor below the seated figure of the Chief of the Crow and Dhraloku beside him. Behind them sat a strange and enigmatic figure. She sat beneath a dais and of all was the most ornately dressed.

Upon her head, nestled in her braided hair she wore a crown which fanned in the back forming a crescent moon. The crown had a veil descending covering her face. The veil was sheer and a bright purple color, with silver embroidery covering it. Through the thin veil deep black eyes gaxed out, which like Dhraloku's, peered into Mithrandir with an uneasy familiarity. Her eyes were accentuated with a deep black make-up that finely curved around the almond shape of her eyes. She wore a sable dress also embroidered with gray and blue designs that seemed to resemble a variety of figures, one of which was Menelmacar, the constellation of the hunter. She wore a scarlet sash about her waist and upon her hands and bare feet were ochre tattoos that curved this way and that about her body. She sat almost perfectly still amid a larger circle of women, both young and old which surrounded the council.

Mithrandir was bidden to sit upon the floor beside Pallando and Uial; as he did a tall Ayab-Mamuk stood and spoke in Alamb-Harad, the common tongue of the East,

"Friends and associates, brothers and sisters in the Unending War! We have come here this night to the Tower Plain to hold our Council. Three years have passed since this council last met in full assembly; and one year has passed since the tide in the war has changed. The Ayab Mamuk were among the first to warn this council that the Great Kingdom of the West was stirring to make war, and look it has now happened!"

The tall man pointed to Ciryaher and said,

"This boy, came to us, and said he was a king. He promised us great wealth if we helped him, and great power if we called our men and warriors under his banner- the Dark One has done this before and has promised the very same. Would he have come to the Ayab-Mamuk first he would have been slain as nothing more than a messenger of Khahalazhul; for it is not uncommon for the spies of the enemy to feign opposition while seeing where our havens lie. Yet the wisdom of the Utashtegu proved well, for he now sits before you, awaiting your judgement. Is he false? Or is he to be trusted, only you must find this out. Let him speak! Let him answer to our demands now!"

Mithrandir felt the anger and resentment rise in the crowd so suddenly he nearly forgot the hospitality the Ayab-Mamuk showed him a few days ago. Ciryaher looked frightened then as the tall, black man shook his finger at him and uttered these words in his direction. Yet Mithrandir saw that his eyes had anger also and he hoped this would spur him to defend himself and his country. Yet instead of him rising the leader of the Crow stood and addressed the crowd,

"Friends, I have lived in these mountains and in this desert all my life. My grandfather built the very foundation stones that encircle Khahalazhul and once claimed his fealty to the Dark One; my grandmothers worked the fields that surrounded the city and bathed in the cool waters of blessed Khavulo, before it faded with the sun. I have known the servants of the Dark One all my life, and this boy, this man, cannot be one of them. For one year he has stayed in my home, and humbled himself. His only sin is pride at meeting a nation he thought small and powerless, but we are not so are we?"

A great cry rose up from the crowd, they hung on every word he said, and some even raised their swords in acceptance of what he said. He raised his hand to calm them and when their shouts subsided he said softly but firmly

"So listen to him; as head of this council I beg of you, listen to him as he has listened to us…"

He presented an open palm to Ciryaher and ordered him to stand up. Mithrandir was amazed at the young man's change; no longer did he saunter or raise his face to the sky as a peacock; as that petulant and foolish king who ordered men to walk across an unending desert. He bowed his head and walked softly to the center of the council; there were sneers and some looked upon him with regard, while others spoke in whispers to their companions. Ciryaher spoke out, in a voice at first quivering and then growing strong, his grasp of Alamb-Harad was limited and produced some snickers from the crowd which were quickly quieted.

"Good meetings, Ciryaher of Gondor am I be; I come from many miles, to be for the fighting against the Dark One, the one we call Khamul. I now come thinking I find no one only Barbarians."

At this boos and shouts erupted, particularly from the Harad, Ayab-Mamuk and even some Utashtegu, who brandished their swords and beat their scabbards upon the ground. But the veiled woman raised her hand and the women on the outer circle whispered something to the men they sat behind. The shouts quieted down and nervously Ciryaher corrected himself,

"I…I came and I thought I would find Barbarians, but I found, good hosts and warriors very skilled and strong be. Warriors, who I now ask for help, who my country now for help is asking…"

As he continued Mithrandir looked at the veiled woman who looked intently at Ciryaher, her hands tying knots with thread, making a rope with a series of knots at different places. He leaned toward Uial and whispered in his ear,

"Who is she that seems to be able to control all that are gathered here and who are these women?"

Uial looked at her and said in a faint whisper,

"The women are easier to answer; they are the wives and mothers of the delegates gathered here, they are here to ensure that their husbands and sons do not forget the people they represent. The only one who is not here is Hipherom, the husband of Hipholuta, his voice would have been needed here and he was well respected by the other women. When they were told of his death they almost stopped the entire council.

Understand Mithrandir were they not here the Council would be just a gathering of warriors and leaders, the wives represent the other people who cannot be here, it is for this reason that they have such great power, but power you cannot see.

As for the woman, their leader, well, she is known by many names; she is both revered and feared among the leaders of the Council, for she holds the only power to turn away any decision made by the Council and bind them to oaths and action. They owe her allegiance and respect…you have only heard of her as Queen Ashthera. One woman from the outer circle is chosen for this role; she could be the wife, sister, daughter or mother of any one gathered here and she is chosen only by the others of the outer circle."

Mithrandir looked at her and said,

"Then she is Dhraloku's wife, or his mother? For Hipholuta said she was of the Utashtegu."

Uial smiled and said,

"She could be any one's wife Mithrandir. Have you not been listening? The Utashtegu cement their alliances with an arcane and ancient tradition of marriage contract. They marry their young people to other tribes and forge bonds that ensure their protection and strength. Queen Ashthera could be the wife of the Ayab-Mamuk, or the husband of one of the Hamadjon generals there…or she could even be the wife of one of the lower men here on the ground."

Mithrandir, understood when he was being played with; the elf was telling him to listen to what he was being told, which he had been doing, but the elf was also reminding him that much of what was done in this council was done without words. The subtle, gentle nudging the wives gave their husbands, telling them what questions to ask. The silent whispers and eye movements which directed who was to talk next. This was true power, the power to rule from behind and in secret; that is why this council had no qualms about meeting on an open mountain top where any flying spy of the enemy could see them. For to the untrained eye, the Council was chaotic, unmanned and unruly, and surely Khamul underestimated their organization, but they had endured his assaults and thrived in a desert that would have destroyed lesser peoples. Mithrandir's quick eyes followed the eyes of Queen Ashthera and understood now that everyone gathered knew who was going to speak next and what question they would ask to get the answer they wanted. Ciryaher turned from question to question, speaking in his broken Alamb-Harad, about the cause of this war and what he could offer them. He spoke of Gondor and how large its army was, he spoke of his father, and even spoke of Saruman and his forces in the south.

All the while those gathered talked amongst themselves and a greater conversation was whispered on the outer circle and it seemed to Mithrandir to be like a musical symphony. Many instruments playing their own part; playing an independent song amidst the din, but also part of a greater melody, culminating to myriad climaxes and crescendos. And one unifying theme rang out among the chaos, and Mithrandir saw it after it was too late. The Council had already decided the fate of Ciryaher and what they would do; they were merely gathering the truth out of the king like drawing water from an urn.

By the time he figured it out Ciryaher had told them of Gondor's armies and their secrets; the foolish boy of a king was unprepared for what he had walked into. The chieftain of the Crow stood silencing the crowd, the Queen's eyelashes blinked slowly and the conversation in the outer circle stopped. Ciryaher stood dazed and wide eyed at what had happened, like a child who confessed to a lie to his parent without even realizing it. He sat back down upon the floor and the tall raven haired man spoke,

"We have ended this debate, for one year we have talked and debated…well no more! You have heard the truth from his own mouth, you know he plans to go through with this war. As head of this Council I move…no I demand that we usher our decree now!"

The other delegates looked at each other and spoke in their own tongues to one another. The Queen silently folded her hands over her lap and ceased tying knots; her hair blew listlessly in the wind, sparkling in the moonlight. Uial leaned in to Mithrandir's ear and said,

"The Queen has the final vote in this matter; they will look to her to see if they are bound to the council's decision or not. Understand Mithrandir, Ciryaher and Gondor's fate was decided long before you arrived at our doorstep, what was missing was Gondor's part in all of this. They have heard only half-truths and rumors till now and Ciryaher, like a good King and Commander kept Gondor's plans close to his heart. These people have known the trouble with secrecy and half-truths; it was the only way to know the truth."

Mithrandir furrowed his brow and a thought arose in his head,_ they did not torture the young king, they did not ransom anyone for his secrets. No they brought it out of him in such a slow way that he was unaware he had done it. And, afterall, this was their land Ciryaher wished to bring war to, true it was not against them, but it would have affected them deeply, whether they helped him or not. Did they not have the right to know what Gondor was bringing upon them?_

The Council deliberated for almost an hour before Dhraloku stood and said,

"It is enough, daylight comes soon and we have been doing this for a long time. The Utashtegu have decided: We shall help the foreigners in any way we can. They promise to bring peace to these lands and recapture Khazhul the jewel of the Utashtegu nation_, _and we trust them in that act."

He sat and the delegates talked amongst themselves again. The chief of the Crow stood and said plainly,

"The Crow have long been a part of this war, and we want to see it brought to a final end; our voice is settled to aid the King of the Western Lands."

The eyes of the delegates looked to the Khand whose delegates picked up their swords silently and threw dirt into the sand, they abstained from voting. The Harad delegates stood and said,

"This is not only Utashtegu land being fought on, it is Harad land also, Khahalazhul is also the land of our kin. Would that we no longer lived under the yolk of the Dark One… The cost is too high to expect us to turn against our kin. We hold true to our oath and bond and shall not attack others of this Council. But we shall not turn our swords and arrows against our kin even if they serve the One Who is Hated. We say, No!"

The delegation from the Ayab-Mamuk stood after a few others had spoke, some agreeing to help, others abstaining and still others refusing. The delegate from the Ayab-Mamuk looked upon his comrades and said,

"They cannot promise a victory so we cannot promise our help will work, or that our men will not die in vain. The Ayab-Mamuk refuse to let this council send our men and our precious Mumak to war."

Finally the delegate from the Hamadjon stood, she was quiet at first and then she placed her hand upon Narmacil's shoulder,

"This youth faced great danger to return our beloved Hipherom to us; he was willing to die to ensure that his body was given the last rites of our people and sent to the loving bosom of our goddesses. Before this, we too did not trust the men of Gondor, but now there is some valor in them. And we Hamadjon have never backed away from the fight. We say yes!"

A collective sigh went out, Mithrandir took account of the verdict. Of the 15 nations gathered there who spoke and gave testimony, 4 abstained, 3 agreed to help, and 8 refused. It was clear to him that Ciryaher and his army would be sent back to Gondor or killed, he was not sure. Then he realized that all had gone silent and all eyes were turned to the Queen. A woman on her right whispered into her ear and when she had finished the Queen stood. In a deep, husky, voice she uttered these words,

"The Council shall not be bound to aid in this war…however, those who have uttered their support shall be allowed to act upon their decision and those who have voiced their descent shall not be bound to sacrifice warrior or food for this war. In one year's time this Council shall gather again under the crescent moon, and decide its path. Go now and struggle on"

She raised her hands in defiance to the small speck of black in the distance,

"Until the end!"

To which all gathered replied,

"Until the end!"

After the council they left one nation by one tribe in silence; Mithrandir could tell by the look on Uial's face he should not say anything until they were alone. He looked at the distance toward the West, where he left Radagast his dear friend by the cool woods of Lorien; he wondered then what his friend was doing and what the affairs in the West were, a place that he had begun to know as his home. He then looked at Uial who was looking into the West as he was, perhaps trying to use the keen eyes of the elves to see the place he once called home also. The elf's thoughts turned to Cirdan who sat alone in his hall, peering at a map of Middle-earth. It was the first time he had been alone in many days and in those brief moments he would look at old maps of the east, not making plans but wondering in the depths of his heart where was the one he called his perion, the half son of a brother long dead. And in those brief moments the Shipwright once called Nolwe would wipe a rare and brief tear from his cheek.


	32. The Lands of the Utashtegu

At the end of the council, Mithrandir said nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself. The wind a top the tower grew chill in the early morning and blew his gray robes this way and that. He looked down into the Tower Valley and saw the encampments leaving one-by-one; the tents put away the horses brought from the river and the campfires extinguished in the purple twilight. Upon the main tower, high above the desert floor Mithrandir, Pallando and Uial sat quietly; Dhraloku and the chieftain of the Crow had descended talking to each other as father and son and the curious and strangely powerful Queen Ashthera left the council first without a word, her retinue of women surrounding her like a cloud or a whirlwind. Mithrandir had many questions, many observations and he looked to Pallando, a true friend and kinsman who would tell him everything he knew and yet the old Istar felt that Pallando had told him just that- there were no more secrets between them. He then turned to Uial, closed off and guarded; he knew more than he let on and perhaps more than even that but the minds of elves are ever curious things, mazes that he could not yet navigate through. When the time came, Uial led them down the rope ladder and silently they descended the tower, when they reached the bottom Mithrandir gasped with surprise; standing in a large mass were his garrison with Narmacil and around them were Ciryaher's contingent dressed in various garbs of their hosts. The leader of the Hamadjon stood beside Narmacil handing him a bundle of white owl feathers saying,

"With this token you are welcomed to the lands of Hipholuta, young one, let no scarlet arrow pierce you or hunter's gaze fall upon you. May your daughters be tall and lithe and their sword arms be as fleet as their arrows, and twice as deadly."

She placed the bundle of feathers in his hair and crossed her arms over her chest. As she spoke more, Mithrandir could tell from her voice that the Chieftain of the Hamadjon, Hipholuta had not come to the council. The delegate turned upon her heel and leapt upon her horse, riding away to join her people.

It took nearly the rest of the morning to reach the encampment of the Utashtegu. They had to pass through the land of the Crow and wander aimlessly through rocky hills dotted with bushes; Mithrandir walked beside Narmacil, he alone among the Gondorians was allowed free access to their lands. The youth spoke of how he didn't think he could find the Hamadjon since they moved locations and were never in the same place; it was not until he came upon Uial that he was able to find them. Uial had apparently heard of the ambush and went to warn Hipholuta but did not reach her until after Hipherom had left with the Gondorians. The elf led the youth to Hipholuta who fell at the body of her husband and wept, crying toward the heavens, tearing at her hair; the general, too heartbroken to attend the council , sent one of her captains in her stead, bearing her axe Madea, while she buried her husband. Mithrandir thought of Hipholuta's stoic nature and his heart broke to hear her act in such an emotional way; _what a land of contradictions…if ever I return to the West they would not believe the stories I would tell._

He looked at the red rising mounds surrounding him and the looming Orocarni in the distance, the chief of which stood like a grand sentinel watching over the west. He knew there were eagles perched up on that mountaintop bearing news of Arda to Manwe upon Tanequetil; at least that was the last he had known when he left Aman many years ago. Uial stopped upon a rock and gazed behind them, his keen eyes perfect for seeing if they were followed; his gaze went back to Mithrandir and the elf smiled weakly. Something was different in the elf, that was for certain, he seemed less…well elvish…though he still bore himself with the same grace and well-honed balance; he slumped to be more in line with the height of the humans around him and he seemed, dimmed, as though the flame of his personage was veiled behind a curtain, whereas the elves in the West let it fill every part of the world around them.

The lands of the Utashtegu were hidden in a deep rocky valley, surrounded by sparse gnarled trees with small green leaves. The small village was a mere settlement of a few domed shelters much like the Hamadjon, yet seemingly made of clay instead of heavy fabric. There were roughly 15 long houses surrounding a central well where two women dressed in blue sat under the shade of a tree. When they entered the settlement everyone's eyes fell upon them; women, children and elders watched as they shelled nuts and ground grain beside their outdoor hearths. This was a sight the Gondorians had not seen of the Utashtegu; the domestic life. The people seemed unafraid as Dhraloku led the army of the West into the midst of his people; they stopped beside the well and he bade them sit. From the 15 houses a young woman came carrying a cistern filled with water and a cup. The Gondorians had already mastered this simple test and for each soldier that was passed the cup he would dip it into the cistern and give water to the one beside him. They performed this ritual four times as the cisterns made their way around the gathered circle. All the while the villagers did not make a sound as they went about their business. Mithrandir looked at the rocks that surrounded them; warriors dressed in black observed them as they moved, their arrows poised and ready to fire. When the noon sun had passed over them, the young women touched the men on their shoulders and escorted them to the cool shelter of the long houses. There were roughly 75 Gondorians in total and they were separated among the 15 houses. The young woman who touched Mithrandir on the shoulder was tall for the women of the Utashtegu, she was 15 by the look of her years yet in her eyes lay a youth that he could not fathom. Her eyes were a piercingly subtle gray, and reminded him of the star-kissed gaze of Melian in the youth of the world. The dark curls of her hair descended like water from the crown of her head and her leaf shaped face smiled upon him, saying in Alamb-Harad,

"Come with me, Grandfather, a special place is reserved for you in my cousin's home."

He stood, mesmerized by the musicality of her voice, her simple white linen dress went to her ankles and turquoise anklets rattled and sang as she walked across the sandy ground with her feet un-sandaled. Mithrandir stood and watched as she glided across the desert sand; he had never known the love of a woman, and to this moment could not understand what emotion possessed Melian to abandon her kin and find love with an elf. Yet at this time he felt a tender passion for this young woman, and it was an emotion that seemed universal, something drew men to her in the same way the dance of a snake draws a mouse to its doom. The dance of her hips undulated like the waves of the western sea. No eyes of the Gondorian men left her, for her beauty was simple; her dark round face was pure of scars as it was sagely weighted by the gray of her eyes. Mithrandir shook the mesmerizing spell from his eyes and he saw her as she was, a somewhat plain girl with an infectious smile; what drew him and all the men were her eyes, introspective, analytical and wise. The house she led Mithrandir into was simple, two benches lined either side and a small hearth was lit in the middle. The house was already full of Gondorians and some Utashtegu warriors, Dhraloku sat in the midst of them an empty seat beside him. When Mithrandir sat, his eyes followed the young woman as she left the hall disappearing behind the dark curtain; to his left sat Dhraloku, who began breaking the bread in their midst and passing it to Mithrandir beside him. To Mithrandir's right sat Pallando and beside him a young man dressed in blue, his acolyte. The meal passed in relative silence since few there spoke a common tongue, those who did happen to sit next to another that spoke Alamb-Harad easily began speaking. Mithrandir turned to Dhraloku, who sat silently watching the hall around him,

"This is your house then, Dhraloku?"

"For the time being, it will pass to my cousin's husband whenever she marries."

"I thought you were the chieftain of this tribe?"

"I am the leader of our army…your people would call me a general. The title of chieftain passes only through the women of my family and it is usually taken up by their husbands or their sons. I will remain among my people until I marry, and then I shall follow to where her family resides."

"Are not your people the Crow? As your father is?"

Dhraloku smiled, watching around him as others looked and listened in on their conversation.

"So many questions Grandfather. You people ask so many in a short span of time, how do you learn anything?

The young man laughed, setting a more informal tone to the gathering; he spoke further to Mithrandir about his father's mother who had died long before he was born- that it was through her that his family maintained their influence over the Utashtegu, his grandfather's people having long ago melded into the larger Utashtegu nation or having followed Tal-ano to join the Crow. He spoke much else about the intricacies of the Utashtegu marriage tradition, such as that unlike Gondorian marriage, the women of his people remained where they lived and the men traveled to the people of their wives. This moved to how his father came to be among the Crow and how he, as the youngest of his brothers, was elected to lead the Utashtegu when his grandfather died. He spoke of his desire to see the river valley of Khavul flowing again with grain and reeds. His father had long told him tales of when his family knew happier times beside the river, in their city, but even to the chieftain of the Crow they were distant stories told to him by his father and grandfather. Mithrandir watched as separate groups began speaking more and then noticed the absence of one person who had yet joined them.

"Cedlal, is not present here? Or does he have his own house?"

"He does Grandfather, in his own village, he has gone ahead to prepare the people for the war…I shall be escorting my cousin there by the end of the week."

"This is not the central village?"

"Of course not! The location of the central village is always hidden; this is merely a place for the storage of grain. It has been empty since the first time we expelled the Dark One from our lands, it will be the home for your king and his men."

The meal progressed with little other discussion of the plans for the war, every so often the young woman would return with full water jugs and place them in four central areas to be passed around. When the meal had been finished, Ciryaher and his men were given blankets and pillows while a young boy with a flute entered. He began to play a soft but happily slow tune, even Mithrandir began to be mesmerized by it and his eyelids, for the first time in his life in corporeal form, began to feel heavy. Without his knowledge, he drifted into an untroubled sleep, marked only by the sound of water flowing beneath his head as he lay down. In his dream he awoke to a dark and empty cavern, above him the glittering roof of the cave sparkled like the night sky; beside the lake sat a woman, she was crying and her tears flowed from her cheek to the large underground lake before him. He recognized the figure immediately yet before he was going to call her name the dream ended and he awoke the next morning refreshed and smelled the fragrant odors of breakfast outside.


	33. Secrets and Revelations

_Thank you all for your patience. It tok me a while to post these chapters, mostly due to a long and arduous semester in Grad School and also due to a slight bout of perfectionism. These following chapters will move rather quickly since the story needs to move on. I thank those of you who have stayed with this story for better or worse; I appreciate your input deeply. Please as always read and review_.

* * *

For the next few days Mithrandir slept and ate and spoke with Ciryaher and his men seeing how they had been treated by the Crow and Utashtegu; much of their tales said that while they were allowed to walk anywhere, when the camp or village would move they were blind-folded and herded into wagons like goats. In general however, the treatment they received as prisoners was surprisingly humane and not at all what the Istar expected. Pallando had long since left the village with Cedlal, that is, Uial as he was once called; Mithrandir, meanwhile was left to his thoughts contemplating what he was doing there at that particular moment. He had no love for war and in truth what he wanted best was to wander the world, not lead garrisons across winding desert paths; he had deep affection for Narmacil and the other soldiers but he desired solitude, many a long year had passed since he was alone on the winding road. One morning he awoke to see Dhraloku packing a black horse, readying for travel. Though the youth had said he would leave in one week that had drawn out into two as he entertained several Khand emissaries who had traveled from their homes in the east to buy grain from them and to see the pale, now burnt pink, faces of the Western Men, who had seen the other end of the unending ocean that lay to the west of them. So now two weeks since their arrival at what was called Maishedhl, the houses of grain, Dhraloku and the young woman he called "cousin" were preparing to leave; Mithrandir approached the Utashtegu general and said,

"I was wondering…if you would take me with you…I have great desire to speak with Cedlal before I leave."

Dhraloku looked quizzically at Mithrandir and looked at the Gondorians who had begun training again now that they had a steady supply of time, food and water, as well as their King back.

"Surely Ciryaher will need you Grandfather?"

"My mission was to get this garrison to him…he is completely capable of commanding them without me. Besides I must return to my own deeds, I have neglected them for far too long."

Dhraloku nodded and said,

"You shall ride my mare then, I will ride with my cousin. Yet, I must insist that you be blindfolded, I cannot allow anyone, even you to see where we are going."

Mithrandir assented to this, by now having memorized of the caution of the Utashtegu and their allies when it came to bringing strangers into their midst. By the setting of the sun the three left the small village and entered a rocky and hilly terrain, the red soil of the mountain getting darker and darker as they went. When they came to a large rock that stood in their path Dhraloku placed a black blindfold over Mithrandir's eyes and they continued upon their journey, not stopping even for water. The young woman, who had yet not spoken a word since she first invited Mithrandir to Dhraloku's home, still did not speak during the entire journey; instead she sang, the song was soft at first and the words in a tongue Mithrandir would not learn for many years. She sang a sad and melancholy song that he would later translate as saying:

I am lost and forsaken, abandoned and

broken from my people.

My love has gone, my history strewn

Upon the rocky sand.

What song shall I sing?

For all is lost and the waves of the sea

Have taken all my life.

Its charring melody has drawn all

From my side, leaving me barren,

As the desert wind leaves the earth,

Before the coming of the rain.

The shadows are calling

The towers have fallen

The desert shall be the home

My soul will seek.

What song shall I sing?

When melody herself has left

Across the sundering seas?

Mithrandir was moved by the sorrow in her voice; she sang with a husky and hale voice, deep in the way that young women sing, as though it came from another world. When her song was finished, he found himself lost in thought, his mind returning to the halls of Imladris where he began this long journey into the east. The winter sun rose over the white pinnacles of the mountains then and the only sound made was the gentle trickle of the water cascading down the cliffs that led to the hidden valley. The river Brunien had slowed to a large stream, enough for young elvish children to jump across and pick the berries that still clung to the last remnants of autumn. Mithrandir prepared his horse to ride south and join Saruman at the black tower of Orthanc; he had enjoyed the overly generous hospitality of Elrond Peredhel and his family and was being laden with a great many treats and even a special package from the Lady of Imladris, the way bread of the elves, lembas. Celebrian stood behind Mithrandir holding a small silver tin, flat and circular, the top was richly ornate with a silver tree whose branches and roots joined as one twisted circle around the trunk, upon which was carved _mellon a Imladris_.

"It is such an odd thing, that the elves of this land journey westward and all my friends shall journey to the east…I feel quite suddenly left behind."

She said this with no sense of sorrow in her voice; her spirits were light, she would soon be travelling to the Hidden Kingdom, where her brother and parents made their home, once the spring began to turn back the frost. Mithrandir turned to her and laid a friendly hand upon her shoulder,

"Such journeys have a way of coming full circle my lady Celebrian…those once lost will return."

She smiled shyly at him looking at him with emploring eyes,

"If you see him…"

"I shall send your love and regards…May I ask you a…a personal question?"

"Of course Mithrandir…"

"Why him? I know your family to be quite close to their servants, but this is…well stronger."

She looked at the old bearded man with a look of concentration as though pondering the very words he said one syllable at a time. Her eyes were cast down onto the ground for a small eternity. When she looked up she smiled,

"Because he was never a servant to me…he didn't follow my orders like a lap dog, he made me earn his loyalty. No one Mithrandir, no one ever did that. And when I earned it, it felt not like I had received a servant like my father had, but a friend, a confidant, a teacher and…well…a brother. And while servants have come and gone, he has remained true…I love him Mithrandir and I worry for him now that he is lost because it feels as though a part of me is lost as well in the desert of the east."

A cracking of a twig brought Mithrandir back into reality; though he could not see them, the rocks around him had grown and the large red mountain loomed larger in the distance. They had gotten off their horses and were now hiking up a steep series of hills. Mithrandir wondered if the village was at the pinnacle of the mountain but when they had climbed the last hill there laying before his unseeing eyes was a small fortified village, arranged in much the same circular way as the granary where Ciryaher made his camp. The wall surrounding the village was built of clay and mud bricks that were enormous and solid and closed off the village from one steep hill to another. There was no opening in the wall, just a small door built into the side of a flat-faced hill; Dhraloku led Mithrandir through the door and in the darkness of the cave behind it he cut off the blindfold. Mithrandir was greeted by the sight of several lamp-lit faces, who inspected him and wondered about him and his beard. Dhraloku led them through a series of hallways that opened to a narrow stairway and into the open light. When Mithrandir stepped out into the village he was amazed at its size, in the center stood a rather large well where women filled urns and carried them to their houses; around the well were roughly 12 large brick houses, circular in shape, their flat roofs supporting a small apartment and patio. Around these houses were small gardens filled with grains and vegetables growing on vines; each house also had a large cistern in the shape of a large flat bowl, used for gathering rain water. Around these gardens and homes was a large stable built into the red rock and a gated fence yard for goats to be held in at night. The mountains to the north provided some cool air descending their sides and the hills provided some relief during the early morning and late afternoon; were the curse on the land lifted, this place would have and once did know seasonal rains that fostered the growth of an old forest range complete with game and fertile soil to plant small home gardens or to sustain a small foraging band, now lost to time and circumstance. When the girl climbed out of the cave she covered her eyes from the bright noon sun, seeing a familiar figure walking towards them she ran to it, her arms outstretched, her voice no longer afraid to speak,

"Abha!"

With relish she ran toward the shadowed figure who caught her in his arms and spun her around effortlessly, his laughter, deep and melodious ringing through the valley. Her black tresses caught the noontime sun as she spun around; like a spinning dervish her white linen skirt flowed and flapped in the wind. When he set her down, Dhraloku and Mithrandir had approached, Dhraloku shrug off the yoke of leadership and became a young man, barely over 25 and embraced the man who had approached them calling him, "Menthu". When Mithrandir saw the face of the stranger he smiled curiously and called him,

"Uial?"

The face of the elf had changed, for the ancient elf of the west was wearing a smile upon his lips and looked older though there were no lines upon his face. He did not wear a loincloth or the black garb of the Utashtegu warrior; rather he wore a white linen tunic and brown pants made from deer skin. His feet were shoed in light moccasins and he wore only one band around his neck at the edge of which was a small roundish turquoise stone. The elf's hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, yet hid the points of his ears in the dark strands of hair. Dhraloku and the young girl left the two and entered one of the central houses descending a set of stairs into the dark coolness of the house. Uial smiled and held out his hand to the Istar.

"Welcome to my home Mithrandir of the West, I am proud to personally offer you my hospitality at long last."

Mithrandir was speechless at first until a voice came from the house,

"Cedlal, t'ahinishidle, ki-yana hum."

A woman with a smooth olive face and long straight hair dotted with white and gray had pushed back the curtain covering the entrance and held a jug of water in one hand. She wore a smile on her lips until she saw the old man standing beside Uial. The elf smiled and said to her,

"T'aspin quito Manna-le Cidhrali."

The woman disappeared and the elf turned his eyes to Mithrandir who looked on curiously, Uial read his expression and said,

"She was just telling me that the food was ready, I told her that we would be in shortly…"

Mithrandir asked the first question that came to his mind,

"Is abha another name you hold here? For, I heard three for you just now."

The elf looked about him as though he were going to tell a horrible secret, leaning in he said,

"Cedlal is my name here Mithrandir…here I am no deity or spirit, I am merely Cedlal. Abha…well abha is translated in the western tongues as father."

Mithrandir wore a look of shock upon his eyes,

"That girl…she is…?"

"My daughter… yes… her name is Xidlalique, though in the outer world she is known by another name."

"And so the woman?"

"Is Dhraloku's aunt… my wife…"

Mithrandir was still in shock when he sat on the floor of Uial's house; he looked at the young girl who now was more talkative than he had ever seen her and she blended between the language of this village and Alamb-harad. Mithrandir looked at her, inspecting her for any sign that she carried the blood of the immortal kind. Her hair was black as night and her gray eyes, so filled with an ageless youth…could it truly be? She felt his eyes upon her and looked directly at his,

"What troubles you Grandfather?"

She said it in perfect Sindarin that he was at first taken aback, Mithrandir shook his head and said in Alamb-harad,

"Nothing child, it is just the heat of the day."

The inside of Cedlal's house was sunken into the ground and was surprisingly cool despite the heat outside. A small hole in the roof let light in and large beams crossed the ceiling, making Mithrandir wonder where they had come from, noting the lack of forests in the area. Yet he also noticed they were richly carved and seemed to carry with them an age that even he could not comprehend. As dusk began to fall the woman called Cidhrali started the hearth fire and Dhraloku left the house to walk about the village. Xidlalique, who Mithrandir had learned was called Anatse in Alamb-Harad, went to a small cleared space where a loom awaited her. Celebrin motioned for Mithrandir to follow him up a long rope ladder to the square apartment above. It was not really an apartment but a place to store corn and other roots and vegetables; it opened into a patio that centered on a smaller hearth. The dusk was settling in the West turning the sky a brilliant purple and blue, contrasting with the deep red of the rock around them. Celebrin beckoned him to sit on a low bench beside him as the elf picked up a group of fibers settling in water and began to twine them into a rope. At first they sat in silence as the elf expertly tightened and braided the rope, periodically testing its strength by pulling on it before continuing; it was Celebrin however who broke the silence,

"Fifteen years…she is fifteen years old."

"Who?"

"Xidlalique… Anatse…she was born 15 years ago last winter, tiny for a child…They thought she was sacred because of her eyes, they feared her and loved her…as did I, from the moment they placed her in my arms."

"Is she truly yours?"

"I don't know…"

Celebrin read Mithrandir's face as soon as he said the words, he looked into the distance and slowly began,

"It was roughly 17 years after I set out on my journey; I had lived, fought, eaten and breathed among the Utashtegu when they were a small roaming tribe of goat herders and horse groomers. I took Cidhrali for my wife because…because she needed me and I needed her. That need grew to affection and blossomed slowly but surely into love. Then one day she was taken from me when she went to retrieve water from a nearby stream…one not far from here. Creatures…creatures of shadow, vile, barbaric and base things they were, they took her into their lands beyond the red mountain; I followed, tracked them down. After much time I found her, and she returned with me to the Utashtegu lands, quiet and frightened by small sounds in the night…she was plagued by nightmares, dark memories when she would rail against the shadows. They violated her, Mithrandir, those vile creatures that…that moved in shadow as well as I…they violated her in ways that she has not fully recovered from. But a year later Anatse was born to us, I thought she would come out vile and evil as those creatures were, but she was a blessed thing. Bathed in starlight…she smiled and laughed when they placed her in my arms, touching me with her soft fingers...I did lay with my wife Mithrandir…so did these creatures, be they man or other dark being in shape and form not unlike our own. I do not know who sowed the seed of her life…but I tended the garden…in this way, Mithrandir, she is my daughter."

When he had finished Mithrandir looked to the first stars that broke into the sky, he sighed heavily,

"Alatar and Pallando?"

"They have voiced their objections. They caution always that the union of elf and man has never been an easy one…"

"One that is always fraught with danger."

"But great beauty also! For where would the elves or men be had Luthien not found love in Beren, or Turgon's daughter for Huror's son?"

Mithrandir smiled and said,

"Forgive me, Uial, I forget this is probably not your first time arguing this."

"I know Mithrandir, and I apologize for my tone…it is my fatherly prerogative. But it is hard to say if she indeed has the blood of elves within her…she is 15 and is on the cusp of adulthood…at 15 years of age I was still but a child clutching to my mother's skirts in the Halls of Doriath. The elvenkind have always aged slower than mortals…but I know nothing of the raising of Peredhil, I know not how life courses through their veins. She may be elf…and she may very likely be mortal."

"And if she is mortal and will die by the slow decay of time? What will you do then?"

The elf looked at Mithrandir and then slowly to the night sky, he sat quietly for a long time before saying, a fearful choking in his voice,

"I know not…but I will protect her for as long as I draw breath."

* * *

_OK, before anyone spears me, there were other accounts of possible elf-human pairings that resulted in children in Tolkien's world. The Lord of Dol Amroth was said to have been descended from an elf-maiden and human male, outside of the Luthien bloodline._


	34. Making Preparations

Many thanks to Elfique for reviewing the last few chapters. It really helps to know someone is reading this!

* * *

It would be another month before Mithrandir left the company of the elf and his family, for the desert storms were passing through the Valley of Fire in their annual migration south of the mountains, making it impossible for any creature, be they elf, man or Istar to survive the long waterless trek to the West. In that short season Mithrandir walked the paths of the Utashtegu warriors as they went from village to village in the mountains gathering what surplus there were and redistributing them wherever there was need. The villages near Ciryaher's garrison supplied the soldiers with grain, meat and they had free reign of the water, though there was always a small child or woman watching the well from which they drank. When the wind and sand season had ended, the world outside this fiery land was going through the gentle touches of autumn and Ciryaher decided he needed to confer with Saruman who held Umbar with several garrisons and legions from Khamul's attacks. And so when Mithrandir judged it was his best time to go, Ciryaher joined him in the central village, brought blindfolded by Dhraloku and Anatse who had been visiting the garrison. They shared a meal in the hospitality of the elf and his family and were sent off into the early dawn. As they prepared to leave, Mithrandir looked out from the roof of Celebrin's home, seeing the winding path that should take them to the old northern road the Dwarves of Erebor used to reach their kin in the Iron Hills; they would touch the northernmost reaches of the Valley of Fire and be without water for a day or two until they reached a small stream that supplied water to a village of Easterlings. Both the Istar and the King of Gondor were given Harad warrior garb so that they could pass through the valley and the lands of the Easterlings unquestioned.

As he looked out he saw Ciryaher readying his horse and Anatse walking up close behind him; she carried something in her hands- what looked like a small package. Ciryaher smiled when he saw the young girl, gently caressing her hands and arms as she spoke with him, she looking into his eyes and furrowing her brow,

"How long till you return to us?"

"Not for a very long time…but worry not, Captain Narmacil will watch over the garrison until I arrive and my men have assured me they will keep up their end of your cousin's bargain. They will watch the mountain passes and let no spy into your lands."

"It is not for your garrison that I fear, but for you…the journey is long from here to the end of the Valley of Fire, or so my father says. And…it is filled with great dangers. To go alone, it is not wise. Perhaps you should wait until my cousin can muster a trade caravan within which you can hide…"

"I must get back to Osgiliath, I worry that my long absence is proving ill…I must go back and remind the Gondorian people why their sons and fathers must wage war in the east…especially now that we have allies."

His hand lightly cusped the smooth curve of her chin, his beard and her youth made them seem like father and daughter, more so than the elf and her; yet Mithrandir read something more in that touch- almost as though Ciryaher never wanted to remove his hand. She handed him the package and then turned lightly, almost noiselessly, and left; Mithrandir decided not to bring it up- he had been warned that meddling in affairs of men can be dangerous and he had done enough of that for the time being. When the two travelers from the West disappeared into the horizon, led away and blindfolded by a small group of four Utashtegu warriors, Celebrin, called Cedlal, watched from the roof of his house, his body leaning on a walking stick, his raven black hair blowing in the uncommonly cool mountain wind. The small shuffling of feet behind him pricked up his ears so that for the first time in many days the leaf-point tip peaked out from the black net of his hair. He turned his head slightly and the image of a woman with dark sable hair, spotted with gray appeared in his periphery.

"I wonder if we did the right thing, bringing them here."

The woman cleared her throat and said in a now husky feminine voice, where once the voice was lilted and musical,

"We cannot say now, but I think the path has been changed and there is no going back."

"If we had just turned them away, they could have waged their war in the south…away from us. We could have known peace."

"And what peace would that have been, Cedlal? We could have built our defenses and for what? If the King of the West had lost, then the Dark One would have come upon us with a vengeance! Now we give our people a chance to fight."

Celebrin looked at the woman, in his eyes he did not see the deep lines of age, or the white and gray strands that highlighted her once raven hair; he smiled and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her warmth and for a moment he allowed himself a little moment of peace in her arms, almost melting into her embrace.

"I forget how long we have been fighting this war…it seems like we have a few brief years of peace and now I wish them only to remain."

Cidhrali embraced her husband and felt the eternally youthful sinews of his muscles that ran up and down his back; the firm embrace of his arms and the sweet smell of the stray strand of black hair that fell about her face transported her back to the first days of their marriage, nearly 20 years ago, before their small clan grew to large numbers and developed into a nation. Tears began to stream down her cheeks and she nestled her face into his chest, Celebrin looked at her with questioning doubt in his eyes.

"What troubles you my love?"

Cidhrali looked into his eyes and smiled,

"Has it really been 20 years since we were married beneath the winter stars?"

"Almost…why do you ask?"

She disengaged him from her hold and sat upon the bench watching the sky turn a burnt rust color. She looked up at him and realized that he wasn't as tall as he was when she first saw him, because his shoulders were hunched and his back bent. She sighed and wrung her hands together; one year shy of 50, she already began to feel the closing years of her life weigh upon her and she often looked at her husband who never seemed to register the piling on of years to her life. She sighed,

"Why did you ever marry me…I was far beyond child-bearing age."

"I did not marry you for a child…I married you because you saved me…you brought me back to life… Besides you did give me a child."

He smiled, thinking he had taken her out of this reverie, but she only looked firmly at him and said,

"You have never spoken about why you needed saving, only saying that one had broken your heart in two. Who was she that did this to you? In all our years together you have never once spoken of her though I know her name."

Celebrin knelt at his wife's feet placing his hands upon her knees; he looked up at her as though he were one wounded,

"You do? How?"

"In your sleep, when the fever and nightmares take you…Who was she, this…Alphindil?"

Celebrin let out a gentle but pained sigh, his brow furrowed and he lay his forehead in her gentle hands that smelled of lavender and sage, looking at the long shadows of her feet in the setting sun he opened his heart to her,

"Alphindil…was my companion of many long years. He fell in battle and was wounded…"

He told her of his long friendship with the elf of the havens, the many years spent in constructing the city of Mithlond, the years of service in the forces of Celeborn and in serving the house of Elmo in the days of peace ere the fall of Numenor. He spoke of Caras Galadhon and many other things until the midnight stars began to wheel around the pinnacle of the domed sky, which in the West was known only by the constellation Valacirca. When he had finished his tale she looked at him, her silent ancient eyes taking him in. She slowly knelt so as to be at eye level with him and without words she embraced him taking him into her arms. Much of what he said amazed her, even given the many things that she had seen since he and the other travelers from the West entered her life those many years ago. It pained her to know of his past; it pained her for it seemed like he had lived countless lifetimes and still seemed so young, so untried in the wisdom of the world. She embraced him and took in his scent, she did not want to let him go, for in that brief and subtle moment she wished she bore with her the life of the ancient ones, so that she would never leave him alone as others had before her.

The years passed on and the war in the East dragged by; when Ciryaher once again stepped onto his native soil of Gondor he seemed as one changed, for no longer was there a hint of his impetuous and gallant youth. Instead his counselors were amazed that who stood before them was a man battle-hardened and for once wise enough to turn them out of their positions of power, which they had held while he was a youth after the death of his father. He sat upon his father's throne in the shimmering city of Osgiliath and none could question his authority; already whispers went through the land of his deeds, some taking upon themselves grander and grander themes. Tales of his travels in the East became legends overnight and included such enigmatic figures as the Dark Queen of the East who enchants men with her eyes and of the fierce race of warrior women who treat men as wives and slaves. Other tales included tales of immense forces of dark faced Harad or slant eyed Khand whom Ciryaher defeated with a small garrison of soldiers and freed the captives of Khamul's land. Such is the way with stories in times of war, and whatever Ciryaher said to correct them the stories took on a life of their own in the market places and bustling centers of Osgiliath.

In the meantime Ciryaher busied himself with first asserting his control over the Council of Lords in Osgiliath who had controlled the affairs of Gondor when he first began his war. He named his general Calmacil as acting steward in his place; the old man was fond of the young king and alone of his councilors sought to empower the king to make his own choices. He next rode to the different lands of his kingdom beseeching and seeking men to add to his army and navy. His campaigns brought him to the shores of Umbar where Saruman the White commanded his legions and navy; then back to Osgiliath and finally to the Northern Kingdoms on the border of his cousin's lands in Eriador. There he made great plans to build a vast and great navy, an armada that would rival the ships of Ar-Pharazon. He took from the great forest of Fangorn, old and strong trees to build his great ships; they cleared the valley surrounding the tower of Orthanc and even to the roots of the Misty Mountains until they suddenly stopped. For it is written in the annals of Lorien and in the histories stored at Orthanc that Amroth, the king of Lorien sent messengers and emissaries bidding him to cease his work, for he had angered the great Onodrim. The ships were built on the shores of the Enedwaith and in the havens of Minhiriath; it was even said that he commissioned the guild of shipwrights from Mithlond to design and build his warships so that they would not sink in battle or in storm.

Meanwhile the garrison in the East prospered under the hospitality and tutelage of the Utashtegu and the Crow; the younger captains and soldiers took to be their wives the women of the Eastern nations and thus the blood of Numenor flowed into those people. Captain Narmacil of Gondor took as his wife the kinswoman of Hipholuta, the Chieftain of the Hamadjon, whose name was Athalantia and who was the greatest of those warriors. From their union the matriarchal bloodline of the Shield Maidens of Rohan was born, for one among the great- great granddaughters of Narmacil and Athalantia, whose name was Hipholyte in the tongue of the Hamadjon, was wed to the son of Eorl the first King of the Riddermark.

The garrison, led by Narmacil and the warriors of the Utashtegu, Crow and Hamadjon led raids into the net of Khamul's land; so great and many were their victories that Khamul stretched out his hand into the North, sending a mighty fighting force to wipe out the Seven Nations once and for all. Yet the Valley of Fire proved to be his undoing and many of his forces died of thirst, heat-stroke or were separated and slaughtered by the small bands of warriors that defended the mountain stronghold. Yet in this time Talano and Dhraloku were lost in battle as they led their warriors against the invasion force of Khamul; it was sung in many war-songs after that the brave and young Dhraloku stood over his father's body and slew many Haradhrim and orc-kind before he was slain in turn- the last devotion of the youngest son to his father. Yet it would be many years for news of their deaths to reach Ciryaher who busied himself for the great battle that was to come; it was even written by some scribes that when a messenger from Narmacil told him of the news the King fell to his knees and wept as though he had lost a father and brother that were so dear to him.

The deaths of Dhraloku and Talano shifted the support of the council so that the Ayab-Mamuk and several bands of the Harad joined their cause; the leadership of the Crow passed to Talano's eldest son and the Utashtegu looked to Cidhrali once again as they had done before Dhraloku came of age and as was their custom. Celebrin, as her husband, was named war-chief of the Utashtegu and took upon himself the training and leading of warriors to battle. For many years the war waged on, with Ciryaher coming into the East at first regularly and then sending vassals as the years went on as his armada grew in the North. Saruman held Umbar for many years until Khamul led a vast naval fleet of Corsairs and Dark Numenoreans and an infantry of Harad and Ayab-Mamuk that were allied to him up the southern coast and through the Harad Road. The assault upon Umbar was too great and Saruman was forced to retreat to the Havens of Belfalas and Lebennin. It was at this time, 30 years after Ciryaher's first failed assault upon Khahalazul that the King of Gonder took the Old Dwarf Road one last time and came to the roots of the Orocarni seeking the council and aid of the Seven Nations of the Red Mountain...


	35. Taking Council

The darkness of the night crept up around him even with the stars shining brilliantly- yet when they used to give him hope they now offered him nothing but foreboding; it had been ten years since he had last made this trek into the East. The war in the West and the loss of Umbar had taken much of his time and focus and now he stood upon a precipice. After his time of preparation the support for the war had begun to wane in the West, the Lords of Gondor and of Eriador had begun to speak openly of withdrawing support; though the great warships he had built did not rot for the skill of the elves crafted them, they sat idle in their havens, taken out only to practice attack maneuvers. He now made his way into the East to speak to the Alliance known as the Seven Nations of the Red Mountains, to see and hope that they would assent to an escalation in the war, which he hoped would bring victory in a few short years. In appearance he did not look too different from when he had left, the long years of battles and politics had etched in gentle lines of worry upon his brow and his lips were more often in a frown of deep thought than in a quizzical look of confusion. He had shaved his beard after the manner of his people and looked resplendent in the garb of a warrior king; now he should not fear entering these lands, though some part of him still did.

Narmacil, loyal, young and level-headed captain of the eastern garrison had sent an envoy of Hamadjon and Gondorian soldiers to greet him where the Dwarf Road met the end of the Iron Hills. In a guarded caravan they entered the lands of the Seven Nations and in stealth they made their way rounding the mighty Orocarni and coming at long last to the river of gold where as a boy he was tended by the daughter of the Utashtegu, when he came to her people weary and travel-worn. He expected a large envoy of the Seven Nations or a gathering of the Great Council. Instead he saw a small tent erected by the shores of the river; the tent was sable in hue and embroidered with a fine handicraft of silver thread depicting a great raven flying amidst a sky filled with stars, if he looked at it through the corner of his eyes it blended in with the dark horizon and the black night surrounding him. Two cisterns of flaming coals burned outside the tent and standing beside them were Narmacil and Cedlal, who greeted him silently, gesturing for him to enter the tent. When he entered he saw only a strangely clad figure within; Queen Ashthera sat with her hand folded upon her knees and by her feet was laid a great labrys, the great double-headed axe of the Hamadjon Chieftain, Hipholuta. A desert owl hooted from a cage hanging in the corner as she gestured for him to sit in front of the axe upon a small red carpet. He sat before her as two attendants offered him water to bathe and drink and a sweet nut cake made with honey and a grain that grew in the floodplains of the south. When he had finished washing his face and hands and had eaten the cake and drink, the Queen spoke, her voice deep and melodic, yet husky and filled with a smoked tenor.

"I know why you have come, son of Ciryandir…Already my scouts tell me your war goes ill. The Haven of Umbar is lost and the Ayab-Mamuk who are allied to us have been run out of their homeland and slaughtered in the process. Khamul's eyes have followed you closely and in this you have failed us."

Meeting her steely gaze he said strongly,

"What you have heard is true. Though I have not failed you, even now I am ready to make war upon Khamul and capture the city of Khahalazul."

"I assure you Ciryaher, Khamul knows about your great naval force in the Northern lands…Even now he is gathering a great force from the sea-peoples of the Khand to match your great army to do battle upon the sea."

At this Ciryaher was astounded, wordlessly he looked at her and his furrowed brow and confused expression bade her to speak on.

"Your movements have always been watched both by us and by Khamul, for this reason you cannot meet with the full council as you once did. There are spies even among us and all the nations of the world are turned against one another. The Council still trusts you Ciryaher, but that trust is waning…"

Ciryaher at this stood,

"And why should I trust the Council? If my movements are followed and if what you say is true then what other recourse is left for me? What benefit have I left in trusting you people?!"

Silently and without emotion she spoke,

"Because the fact remains…you need us."

It hit him harshly in the chest, the realization and the truth of her words. He looked out of the tent, the two dark figures of Cedlal and Narmacil speaking to one another in the distance. Sighing he turned to face Queen Ashthera, her eyes filled with stoic and unrelenting wisdom.

"What must I do?"

"The war stands upon the edge of a cliff; we can no longer trust in secrecy. Even now as Khamul stretches his hands to orchestrate the great battle that is to come to your shores, his eyes turn to the North and to the Red Mountains. It will not be long till he has us in his sight and when he finds us the retribution and death will come swiftly."

Ciryaher turned to face her and began pacing around the area of the tent,

"Then we must surprise him, strike when he thinks we are weak, set him off balance."

With a gentle nod Queen Asthera stood, her height now imposing; picking up the double-edged axe she hands it to Ciryaher.

"Move your navy into position. The forces of the East will handle the city of Khahalazul, and the north as we have always done."

"But how?"

"Even from you the council keeps its secrets and it is not for you to know the true size of our power. Only that to sway the Council to use its full force I will need more than your word that this victory will come swiftly…I will need an action, binding yourself to us."

"Why must I be bound to you?"

Silently she turned, the beads upon her face scarf clinking and tingling like little bronze bells, soft and deep their sound filling the silence of the air. She looked into the hearth in the center of the tent, her eyes glistening like a pair of stars through the opaque veil she wore and Ciryaher almost sees a glint of a tear.

"Because…the council trusts in its own power and friendship, not through a mutual goal but through a union much stronger and viable…through blood. A great secret of the council is not that we have weathered the storms of the past, nor that we come from different walks of life and histories, but that we are united by the oldest institution imaginable…We are family."

Ciryaher looked upon her, almost wanting to touch her yet her presence, her almost ethereal quality of her movements and voice stop him, knowing almost instinctually that if he were to lay a finger upon her he would be killed. He nods and kneels upon one knee before her,

"What would you have me vow?"

"You must first promise that if this war is to be won and Khahalazul falls under your hands, no man of Gondorian blood shall sit upon its throne…it shall pass to the council of the Seven Nations and all the lands of Khamul shall belong to us."

Ciryaher's eyes widen in shock,

"I cannot promise that, the Lords of Gondor will not allow me to…"

At this Queen Ashthera seemed to grow in size and majesty, she stood towering over him her body blocking the light of the hearth and her shadow filling and surrounding him, the mirrored beads of her gown and diadem catching the light, seeming to dance upon her form as bits of flame,

"Are you not King of Gondor?! Is it not your will to sign whatever treaties you wish and to make whatever alliances seem best to you?! Or are you simply a figure-head king at the mercy of a gaggle of old men who send younger men to do their bidding? Send me the true rulers of Gondor so that I may parlay with them and not some princeling!"

At this Ciryaher stood and looked at her in the eyes, the smoky veil separating his eyes and hers seemed to burn away and he could peer into her soul for a brief instant.

"I am King of Gondor and servant to no one…Not even the Queen of the East!"

Then in brief moment he lost himself and stepped back swallowing a lump that was caught in his throat, a rustle came from behind them and standing in the entranceway of the tent was Cedlal, his sword half drawn and a look of anger upon his face. With a wave of her heavily tattooed hand Queen Ashthera bid him depart, which he did with a slight bow. For a few brief moments silence passed between them as Ciryaher paced and as Queen Ashthera walked to her seat and silently placed her hands upon her lap laying the axe once again beside her feet. At long last Ciryaher spoke,

"Give Gondor the lands of the Easterlings and the city and lands of Umbar. You may have the eastern lands of the Harad and Khand for all I care."

"The council will need something more, a promise that this treaty will not be forgotten and will be honored, even by your descendents."

"What more would they want?"

Without hesitating she looked into his eyes and said,

"You will take for your wife a woman of the Seven Nations and marry her under our laws and customs, or name Narmacil's daughter as your heir."

"And those are my only choices?"

She rose to meet him eye to eye placing the hilt of the labrys in his hands,

"You must bind yourself to us as Narmacil has done…in this way the council can ensure that regardless of what happens to you or to us, the treaty is honored in the next generation and beyond. Do you swear to this?"

Breathing in deeply Ciryaher took the labrys and attached it to his belt,

"I so swear."

The rest of that night Ciryaher and Queen Ashthera of the East spoke of battle plans and he was amazed that a woman would know as much about waging a war as he; in the morning Ciryaher left to the East escorted by Narmacil and his guard, the labrys of Hipholuta upon his belt glistening in the sun. When they found a few moments of peace together, Ciryaher told the young captain of his oath and treaty, at this the young captain was silent at first and then said,

"Now I do not know who got more out of this bargain, you or her."

Ciryaher taking it for a jest said simply,

"Marriage contracts are not that uncommon in Gondor, I would still be forced to marry some nobleman's daughter, at least now I will bind the lands of the east under my domain."

Narmacil shifted uneasily upon his horse and said,

"May I be frank with you my lord?"

"Of course Narmacil, you have earned that right as my captain. I trust your word."

"You do not know the truth of all that you have sworn to my lord…Under their customs it is not the woman and her lands that come under the rule of her husband as it is in the marriage customs of Gondor…You will be absorbed into their lineage, and the rule of Gondor will pass to them…It is the same oath and marriage I made."

"But Narmacil…"

"I do not regret my marriage my lord and king…I was my father's third son and when I returned to Gondor all that would be waiting for me would be a position in the Tower Guard or a captaincy in the army of my father's brother, the Lord of Edhellond, at best. Here at least I am given the status of my wife and am captain of the garrison and men of the Hamadjon. I could never seek to be higher…but you, my king, I wonder now how the Lords of Gondor will take this news."

"They will not know of it till the end of this war, if it ever come… Who is even to say if the oath will be fulfilled, at least now I have the Seven Nations in league with us."

Ciryaher rode off now with his escort leaving Narmacil and his guarded caravan to return to their mountain stronghold; in silence Narmacil whispered to himself,

"Will even the king be oathbreaker in these uncertain times?"

And for a brief moment Narmacil's love for his king faltered as he considered this and then prayed to Varda that no oath should be broken when this war was over, lest it bring the destruction of the home he loved so much.


	36. The Final Battle

It would be another 3 years before the great battle commenced, during this time Ciryaher and his navy prepared for battle, conscious that they were being watched and their movements known by the spies of Khamul. Suddenly unlooked for in the dead of night Ciryaher led his armada down the coast of Middle Earth, away from their havens and began their assault upon Umbar. At first they did so with a small naval attack that was quickly repelled by the Corsairs and the Dark Numenoreans, yet in their zeal to capture or kill the King of Gondor they chased him northward leaving Umbar defenseless. From the south came a force of Khand ships, allied with the Seven Nations and these trapped the army of Khamul stationed at Umbar without access to food or supplies. The naval fleet of Corsairs and Dark Numenoreans was decimated by Ciryaher's armada and after a year-long naval battle the king of Gondor led his army victorious onto the soil of Umbar. Khamul in his rage called forth his Khand and Corsair mercenaries and a great sea battle was waged for the city of Umbar and for its coasts. On one side attacking from the South came the naval fleet of Khand and Dark Numenorean ships, light quick and small. Their sails were black as night bearing only a blood red image of a circle crowned with nine red stars; Ciryaher glimpsed them from a distance and noted their number,

"Two thousand…Mark them, two thousand come to make war upon Gondor."

The scribe noted it in his logs and trembled, though he sat upon a ship the size of a castle he feared the swiftness of the enemy's boats and the machinations and magic of Khamul that rode upon them. Ciryaher saw him tremble and placed a secure hand upon the scribe's shoulder and said smiling,

"Worry not young one, two thousand sail against us and two thousand shall we leave in our wake burning or sunk into Ulmo's depths."

He raised his sword and called out to his men,

"Prepare men of Gondor! The hour of our long preparations is at hand, the Great Battle commences. Send them into the depths of the sea!"

The armada of Ciryaher was a sight to behold, for the ships glistened like gold in the rising of the sun, they were like the size of a hall of men and upon their prow a great eagle was set in flight. Their sails were white as the clouds above and upon them was worked the insignia of the King, a white tree surrounded by seven golden stars and a crown high with the wings of a swan. As they floated upon the ocean's surface the waves beat against them and sounded like great drums or rolls of thunder. Amid the large ships sailed the light and low ships of the Khand, flying the banners of the Seven Nations, their banners and ships were gray and moved swiftly between the large ships, the sides teeming with agile archers and spearmen, ready to finish the work of the large ships that Ciryaher set sail from the Havens of Umbar. Ciryaher stood upon the prow of his ship, taking in a large breath of salty air he shouted,

"To the ending of the Darkness, let fly the warships of Gondor and of the sons of Numenor!"

At this the devices of Saruman let out a great booming sound, like thunder, and a flash of light erupted from the front of Ciryaher's ship. Immediately a Khand ship exploded into tiny fragments and so began the great sea battle for Umbar. The Khand ships were not unprepared and the machinations of Khamul proved useful for from the light ships large harpoons were fired and bore great holes into the ships of Ciryaher. And from these ships also flaming arrows stuck into the hulls of the ships and exploded on contact. Yet the mighty and strong ships of Ciryaher crashed into the smaller ships and broke them into many pieces, scattering their men into the churning waters of the sea, never to be seen again. Ciryaher led his ships down the coast of Umbar landing here and there depositing the infantry and cavalry within; as Ciryaher leapt from his ship onto the sandy shore he looked behind him as the ships of the Khand allied to him weaved this way and that among the enemy ships and destroyed them in their wake. Saruman and his ships had already surrounded the Haven and the garrisons from those ships would soon join him on the field of battle. All was going according to plan, until a fell horn filled the air and to the eastern horizon Ciryaher beheld the army that Khamul had mustered to meet him on the plains of Umbar. Towering Mumakil dotted the horizon and ground shook with their procession, at their feet rode thousands upon millions of Harad soldiers upon black steeds and hundreds of legions of orc infantry. In the center of the vast armed force, upon a large double tusked mumakil, sat a figure shrouded in black robes, wearing a golden necklace that held a blood red ruby. Khamul himself had come to meet them in battle; upon his great beast he carried a vast caldron that breathed unholy dark smog into the air blocking the sun. Ciryaher breathed in and ordered his men into ranks, their horses rearing ready to charge the massive creatures from the southlands. To the north the garrisons of Gondorian cavalry rode to meet their king but it was clear from the outlook that Khamul had brought forth the entire might of his empire to destroy Ciryaher then and there. Now caught between the burning ships of Khamul's army and the force of Khahalazul Ciryaher breathed deeply and uttered the following words to the sky,

"Charge!"

The stampede of horses was immense and sounded like a great barrage of thunder claps rolling across the sky; the ground shook with their might as they rode to meet the great force of Khamul head on. The dark riders of Harad began their charge as well, wooping and yelling like mad spirits, the polished bone and precious stone encrusted armor they wore clinking as they rode so that it sounded like pellets of hail beating against the stone tile roofs of Osgiliath. Khamul did not move his great Mumakil cavalry at that moment, better, he thought to let the tiny sea-king crush his army against the might of his Harad force. He laughed a little sitting high upon his throne as the dark men of Harad, his pawns, advanced along the plain of battle and then his unearthly smile halted for the force of the Harad seemed to rear up as the cavalry of Gondor neared them. As they reared and in one unison force they turned and stood facing the wall of mumakil where Khamul moved his chess pieces. One amongst them reared his horse high into the sky, the sable steed kicking the air wildly as he put a horn to his lips and blew a resounding tenor-filled note that filled the dark soul-less being with dread. They dropped their red banners and lifted high a green banner, bearing upon it a crescent moon surrounded by seven mountains, the battle crest of the Seven Nations. The Dark lord Khamul let out a shrill cry as the horses of Gondor and the steeds of Harad became one and rode in a great thunderous roar toward his awaiting infantry of orcs.

"Kill the traitors!"

Shouted the Nazgul captain, knowing fear for the first time in many years, since that last great war upon the valley of Gorgoroth. The orc army advanced but began to turn as the many thousands of Harad and Gondorian cavalry advanced upon them intent upon mowing them down like pebbles upon the road. Khamul then began leading his force of Mumakil, at least his Southron army was still loyal to him. With a great trumpet roar the mumakil army began to advance their monstrous feet shaking the earth and the fell drums reverberating through the empty plains.

When Ciryaher met the Harad captain as he let play his horn he said in Alamb-Harad,

"How pleasant of you to wait for us!"

The Harad captain chuckled at this jest and said,

"If we had not there would be no sport left for you!"

With a wave of his cresent shaped sword the Harad Captain ordered his men to ride forth and destroy their slave-master. The clash and clamor of the iron orc armor being trampled by steel shoed horses filled the air as the orcs gave out a cry of dismay; yet as Khamul approached the shattering sound of bones breaking replaced them as both horse and rider were crushed by the immense and immovable wall of the great race of Mumakil from the southern lands. Ciryaher and his men weaved between their legs firing arrows at the bellies of the great beasts but they could not be stopped and the men of Harad scattered as their captain was crushed beneath the foot of Khamul's mumakil. He called all men to him as he saw the great towers of animal flesh move easily past him and head toward the great gleaming ships mounted on the shores of Umbar. The cavalry of Gondor and Harad circled around and began to attack from the sides trying in vain to bring down the mighty force as they tore through the cavalry and were headed straight toward the advancing infantry. Wide-eyed and calling out in a shrill voice he chased the force of Mumakil attacking from behind as the great Gondorian ships fired from their prow the great gleaming balls of flame and thunder that shattered the Khand ships.

To the East of that great battle, Harad soldiers patrolled the walls of Khahalazul some laughing and others making plans for the assault upon Osgiliath itself once the King of Gondor was killed. In one tall tower a short pudgy Harad man played a game of dice with another leaner of his countrymen, who stood tall and wore a black veil over his face, as was their custom in order to keep the sand out of their faces.

"How long do you think the battle'll last?"

Said the portly fellow, growing impatient in the heat of the day.

"Should be another five days or so I wager, for the Master to wage war and make his way back here victorious. Why you anxious to get home to your wife, or does your concubine wait for you with her legs in the air?"

The men surrounding them laughed heartily and the stout Harad man laughed and his belly jiggled full of fat and wine. The tall Harad threw the dice and they rolled into the center of the circle showing an unfavorable hand, the stout man gave out a cry of joy,

"Ha! Looks like I'll come home with a necklace for the wife and a pair of cuffs for the concubines, all four of them!"

The tall one stood and opened his palms in surrender,

"You've bested me at dice, friend…But you've lost something else"

In a flash the tall Harad man drew out a brilliantly silver, crescent sword and sliced the head off of the stout Harad sergeant; the others surrounding him gasped in shock. As they advanced him the tall Harad removed his veil and reveled a grim smile and piercingly dark eyes in which were reflected the light of the ancient stars.

"Adle Kimana!"

"Now is the Hour!"

Shouted Celebrin as others in the tower drew their swords and slew the guards sitting beside them. Shouts rang out from the towers surrounding them, the battle for Khahalazul began.

Ciryaher and his cavalry rounded the Mumakil and hey slashed and cut their way through Khamul's orc infantry, trying to place themselves once again between the Mumakil and the Gondorian infantry who would soon be crushed by the massive feet of the giant beasts. Ciryaher drew as many of the Harad men to him as possible though others, seeing their captain slain rushed to his side as orcs began to hack and hew his corpse. Saruman was still hours away from aiding them, the cloud above began to dissipate as Khamul moved his force closer to the ships. Ciryaher lead a mighty charge maneuvering his cavalry between the legs of the Mumakil firing vainly again at their bellies, while the mighty devices of Saruman blasted at the charging gray wall. Suddenly a shrill horn filled the air and all seemed to pause for a moment. To the south stood another great wall of gray, a mumak let out a violently loud trumpet-like roar as the massive wall advanced upon the scene. Ciryaher gave himself up for lost; there was no possible way his army could withstand such a force of unstoppable power.

Celebrin ran along the walls of Khahalazul, as Harad soldiers came running out of towers brandishing their swords. His Utashtegu men had already ripped off their Harad garments, which they used to infiltrate the city weeks before and were fighting man to man with stone laced clubs, spears, bows and axes, as well as swords. Though they were not heavily armored for a siege battle, their advantage lay in the element of surprise and they were determined not to lose it. The guards along the wall were taken but a few feet of enemy fighters lay between Celebrin and his goal, the gears that secured the doors of Khahalazul.

Ciryaher sat still upon his horse for a brief moment, doubt beginning to creep into his mind; suddenly a memory crept upon him,

_ "__Even from you the council keeps its secrets and it is not for you to know the true size of our power"_

In his heart he knew hope was still alive for his cause, he stopped his horse and called out to his men to charge, and still the onslaught endured as Saruman and his infantry appeared on the Northern sand dunes, which lead to the road to Umbar. The Harad of the Seven Nations let out a cry of joy as well for upon the southern edge of the field of battle the horn cry that came from the Mumakil force was different than the horn given by the Mumakil riders that carried Khamul across the field of battle and they bore the banner of the Seven Nations.

In Khahalazul Celebrin pushed his Utashtegu warriors through the guards of the dark city determined not to lose their advantage. His eye caught the faint glimmer of silver steel in the darkening sky, upon the hills of fiery sand stood a legion of Utashtegu warriors and beside them the strong regimented lines of Hamadjon as well as the mounted garrison from Gondor led by Narmacil. Time was running out, if the Harad guards kept the gate shut then the army outside could do nothing but watch as he and his men were quickly over taken by sheer number alone. He was trapped with only 50 men under his command, scattered throughout the city. The lock for the gate lay only a few feet away, silence surrounded him as he and his men pushed against the Harad guards. With one deft movement Celebrin climbed over the back of one of his men and leapt over the stalemate, he ran to the gate lock and began to turn the wheel that held the gears in place. The Gate creaked and moaned as the iron and wood mechanism lifted from the rocky soil beneath it; a cry came forth from the army outside as Narmacil and the other captains led the charge stampeding into the city and running through the city streets to join the fight.

Ciryaher had rounded his men as the stampede from the Seven Nation s barreled down upon the field of battle the earth shaking from their advance. The great beasts of the south were painted in red and black designs and their massive ivory tusks glinted in the sunlight as they were wrapped in bronze. With a sudden crash and a thunderous roar the lead Mumak of the Seven Nation's cavalry collided with the side of Khamul's beast and mowed him down, the sound of breaking bones and shattered skin filling the air. The great urn sitting atop the creature fell to the ground spilling its contents onto the rocky ground of the battlefield and the black clouds above began to dissipate. Ciryaher called his men to him as the orcs began to flee the coming daylight; in one swift wave they fell upon the orcs and cruel men of Harad and Khand who had joined Khamul on this battle. The Dark creature, Captain of the Nazgul looked upon the field of battle and let out a great and harrowing shriek, like a wounded wild cat that strikes its last before falling into death. With a great flash of an eerie green light the Dark Emperor of the east vanished from the field of battle his great black cloak falling with a limp wet sound upon the ground. For a moment the great red ruby upon his neck hovered in the daylight before shooting up into the sky and gathering all the black clouds to it. Raging like a storm the dark cloud fled from the field of battle to the East, toward the city of Khahalazul; the men of Harad and the orcs chasing after it like abandoned children. Ciryaher let out a laugh of victory as he and his cavalry chased down the army of Khahalazul hewing them as they fled.

In the city of Khamul, Celebrin and his army rode and ran through the streets making war upon the dark city, burning and slashing as they went. The streets ran red with blood and fires dotted the great stone houses of Khamul's generals and their stables, the horses racing out into the streets. Celebrin stood now upon the hill of the city, where the burning tower of Khamul began to crumble; a heavy weight fell upon his chest as he looked into the sky, for a great black cloud hovered over the city. He felt it call to him, filled with anger and fear and resentment the black cloud seemed to open and a great fire resided within hovering above the place where the tower once stood. It seemed to mortal eyes that a great thunder storm hovered above them and great crashing thunder claps could be heard and their sound was deafening. Yet the elf saw a great orb of red flame flying in the midst of the cloud surrounded by 8 pale white wisps of light, hale and terrifying. A voice cried out from the hovering flames,

"Mark this day well, Slaves and Goat herders! It will be the only victory you shall have! Your days of peace which will be short and the men of Gondor shall be faithless to you."

Raising his sword to the sky Celebrin shouted,

"Your curses have no power hear, fallen one! Go into the shadow with what is left of your race and your Master!"

A great thunder strike filled the air around and a searing heat wave forced all to the ground, crushing stone and causing the fires to leap into the sky. Celebrin stood his ground as a shimmering figure stood before him; it looked like a man though wearing robes of silken white and upon his neck he wore a great golden necklace, within was set a flaming red ruby. A great axe he held and pointed it at the elf,

"And you, elfling! You I shall curse personally for your interference in this war… she will die a mortal's death and nothing you do can stop it; the breaking of your heart will be like the shattering of glass upon a stone. And you shall return home, but it will be as a ghost, unrecognizable to your kin and as though all the years of your life meant nothing."

In his heart Celebrin felt a grave darkness as though all that the shadow said was true and the weight of it began to tear at his soul. Breathing heavily the elf closed his eyes and felt the wet warmth of his tears and a silent drumbeat that was his heart. He relived the death of his father and of his mother, and of many others that he had witnessed in the times of the great wars ere the inception of the third age of the world. With a hale and thundering voice he raised his sword to the sky, tears streaming down his cheek, his heart filling with a hale and wise warmth and said,

"Your words mean nothing Shade of a forgotten and fallen realm! I was born and saw the stars of Elbereth before you were created and the light of Luthien Tinuviel shines in my heart. Bring upon me your woes and tragedy! I shall never rest nor let the breath of life leave me till you are nothing more and all that is left of you falls into the abyss!"

With the utterance of the name Elbereth and Luthien the shade of Khamul faltered and the blood red ruby seemed to cry out in pain; the man in tattered white robes vanished in a flash of thunder that left the place where he stood blacked and cracked. When the dust settled the dark cloud drew away and the light of the full moon shone brilliant and white upon the city of Khahalazul through the gray clouds. Sharp little pains began to pelt Celebrin upon the face, and at first he cringed for it was cold as ice or the sharpest of snowflakes. Small pattering sounds filled his ears and he suddenly realized that through all the years he spent in the desert he had forgotten the sound of rain.


	37. Of Marches and Treaties

Victory had been won in the war between Gondor and the dark empire in the lands of Harad; Ciryaher celebrated in the streets of Umbar as his men called out to him in celebration calling him Hyarmendacil, Conqueror of the South. The Haradrim and Ayab-Mamuk gathered the bodies of their dead and rode into the East seeking word of their allies in their battle upon Khahalazul. The Haradrim and Khand that followed under Khamul fell to their knees in supplication and made peace with the King of Gondor. A few days later Celebrin sent word to Ciryaher that Khahalazul was taken and its inhabitants exiled from Harad and Khand; he also sent word that Queen Ashthera and the rest of the council awaited his entrance into the city in a march of victory, when treaties would be made and peace at long last enshrined between the men of the West and the peoples of the East and South.

And so Ciryaher Hyarmendacil rode in a great procession along the fragments of the old Harad road that led to the Khavul valley and the city of Khahalazul. Beside him rode Narmacil who had ridden out to meet his King along with his garrison that had grown and swelled in the 35 years since the inception of the war. The men of Narmacil's garrison were darker than their kin from Gondor for in them resided the blood of the Eastern peoples, their hair grew in curls or straight depending on if they were descended from Harad or Utashtegu women. Some in this garrison also were women though they were broader of shoulder and harder of face than women of Gondor and some of the men made jests at their expense, at least until they were sorely beaten by them. Ciryaher at this time wore a shimmering silver suit of armor and a great blue riding cape descended from his shoulders, covering the hind quarters of his white horse, embroidered with brilliant silver, gold and bronze stars. His crown was tall and high, the white swan feathers catching the bright light of the sun; his face was cleanly shaven, his hair shorn to the nape of his neck and the smile upon his face made him seem like a young man again. As they approached the city he saw great banners of several colors draped over the walls of Khahalazul, they each bore the insignia of the Seven Nations and beneath that was embroidered the sign or crest of each individual nation. For the Ayab-Mamuk, there was bright red banner with the symbol of two tusks crossed over a spear that pointed toward the sky; for the Khand there were two banners one bore a great lion and another was a great dragon embroidered upon white and green silk. These three hung over the right side of the city's entrance, to the left hung three others, two for the Harad: one was colored sable with a white outline of a horse riding upon the crescent moon and the other was red with a hand set in a blazing red sun. Beside those was a banner emblazoned with the symbol of the Hamadjon warriors, it was set on a purple banner and its insignia was a crescent moon beneath a five petal rose that stood before a standing labrys. And above the gate to the city of Khahalazul hung a bright blue and green banner upon which was hung the symbol of the Utashtegu, a simple circle that was separated into four quarters, and the circle was surrounded by a great feathered serpent that ate its own tail. From the walls of the city Ciryaher Hyarmenacil and his retinue were greeted by shouts of joy and victory uttered in many different tongues; those who greeted them threw from the heights of the walls a flurry of small pink and yellow flowers. As he passed through the doorway of the city he was struck in awe for upon every building that still stood was a huge gathering of people waving at him and cheering and along the streets were gathered a great multitude of women, children and elders who wore the ceremonial garb of their people.

The main course-way was lined by the warriors of the Seven Nations, beginning with the Ayab- Mamuk arrayed in resplendent red garb which was in stark contrast to the black of their skin, then next came the Khand who wore their silken dress and then the Harad who wore crimson and black robes. Then came the Hamadjon who wore their warrior skirts and a tight leather jerkin about their chests, their capes flowing toward the ground, and their helmets gleaming in the daylight. Finally the soldiers of the Utashtegu lined the course-way as it led to the hill upon which the tower of Khamul once stood. They wore no longer the black garb of their stealth but a full range of costume that highlighted their amalgam history: some wore loin cloths with red and turquoise capes hanging from their shoulders, others wore buck skin pants and high flat footed boots with white linen shirts. And others wore richly embroidered garments or hung feathers from braids in their hair, or great stone necklaces about their necks. Ciryaher Hyarmendacil admired their welcome and was glad that he had brought the other Lords of Gondor to witness the full might of the allies he had made. He looked back at them and they were astonished or wore looks of fear or incredulousness.

At the zenith of the hill standing upon the broken foundations of the tower stood Queen Ashthera surrounded by the other masked figures of the Council. Behind the queen stood Celebrin, the elf, almost blending in with the other mortals save for the beauty that one could see in his face. Ciryaher dismounted his steed and began to climb the hill, when he reached the zenith he made a gesture to move toward where the council stood but the Queen raised her hands and a silence fell over the people gathered there.

"Welcome to the city of Khavul, King Hyarmendacil of Gondor, for no more shall its former accursed name be uttered. Now is the time for renewal and rebirth; now is the time that we begin our world again for victory has been gained by Gondor and OUR PEOPLE!"

At this the people cheered and the stomping of their feet seemed to shake the walls and the ground Ciryaher stood upon. He looked upon the Queen and was amazed, for she wore a sable gown that shimmered as though it were a deep velvety blue or regal violet hidden beneath a black veil. Upon the gown were embroidered silver stars and her hands which stuck out of the long sleeves were deeply tattooed with ochre drawings. She wore a crown now, that seemed to form a half-moon shaped coronet over her head and her head scarf flowed from her crown to the ground trailing behind her. Still she wore an opaque veil and her brilliant eyes shone out through the haze giving only a slight inkling that she was human. She began to speak again, her voice carrying over the silent crowd,

"Now also is the time to make oaths fulfilled… take out the axe I once gave you, king and conqueror of Khamul's lands."

Ciryaher Hyarmendacil hesitated, his palms sweating; he did not think they would ask him to fulfill his vows in public but he should have expected it- it was the only they could ensure that the oaths were truly taken and not set aside. Behind him the Lords of Gondor and his royal counselors began to mutter among themselves, amongst them stood Saruman, dressed in resplendent white and behind him was Mithrandir who whispered into his kinsman's ear,

"Oaths? I have heard of no oaths."

"Many things the young king kept in his heart Mithrandir, but I guessed as much when he returned to Gondor from his trip to visit the Queen of the East. It seemed as though other things were on his mind and he long examined the laws of Gondor, especially those concerning marriage."

Ciryaher took the great axe, which hung from the saddle of his horse and that shone out brightly in the noon sun, with a wave of her hand the Queen said,

"Guardians of the East, now is no longer the time for secrecy reveal your faces to your friend and ally in true bonds of trust."

The council removed their veils and revealed many different men and women who stood in the ceremonial garb of their people. The only one that remained veiled was the Queen, at this the unsteady voice of Ciryaher reverberated into the open air,

"What about you oh great queen of the East, shall not your people set their eyes upon you as well?"

There was silence and Saruman smiled shaking his head,

"The young king wants this ceremony on equal ground, he is pressing his advantage."

A light laughter came from the queen and she opened her hand to request the axe of Hipholuta, once she held it in her hands she raised her face to the sun and said,

"Those who stand before you are mortal men, driven by the desires of mortal men, but I…I, King of the West, am not a simple mortal man. I am the voice of my people, the mind of their mind… the heart of their heart. Turn around King of Gondor and see my true face."

He turned and there saw the great multitude that gazed upon him, some with smiles of joy and hope, these mostly came from young ones, men and women in the prime of their lives; others had tears flowing down their cheeks and some even hid their faces as they broke down, these were the old, who longed for the end of Khamul's tyranny. Humbled Ciryaher turned to the Queen and nodded,

"Your face is indeed beautiful Lady…To my oath I hold myself and all the men of Gondor."

The Lords of Gondor and the king's counselors began to grumble as Ciryaher spoke, kneeling upon the ground,

"I henceforth vow that all the lands East and South of Umbar, including the vales and lands of Khavul and Khand shall henceforth belong to the Seven Nations of the red Mountain and their descendents as long as my blood sits upon the throne of Gondor. And I vow that Khavul shall know no king, lord, vassal or tyrant of Gondorian blood as long as my life endures."

At this the Queen spoke, the tense anger brewing among the Lords of Gondor began to creep up Mithrandir's neck,

"And to our oath we hold…That while the Seven Nations and our allegiances hold true, no force of darkness shall return to these lands or muster a force against the land and king of Gondor. That to Gondor we give the rule and order of the Eastern lands North of the Harad road until the borders of Khavul. To Gondor shall also go the lands of Umbar and the coastlines to the South shall be under the domain of Ciryaher Hyarmenacil, lord of the Southern Lands.

At this the queen raised the axe to the sky and said aloud,

"The blood of Gondor and our people has been spilt in sacrifice to save our lands and to free our people from bondage. The river shall once again run through these lands and to seal this great pact, East and West shall be joined in that eternal bond that unites strangers in all lands, the bond of marriage."

A cry went out through the city as Ciryaher rose and taking the hand of the queen said,

"And for my bride I choose the woman beneath this veil, for I shall be wed to the people of the Seven Nations and to her my heart belongs."

Silence followed, both from the people and from the retinue from Gondor; breaking the silence the queen said,

"Are you sure of this?"

"I am."

"Then so it shall be. Tomorrow at the appointed time it shall happen."

The queen walked away and the preparations for the wedding feast began in earnest. Immediately the Lords of Gondor surrounded the king, uttering words of protest, saying that he had no right to surrender Gondor's claims to the East much less to marry an Eastern woman or deny his own children the right to sit upon Khavul's throne. He listened to them silently and Mithrandir, for a brief moment saw a look of worry upon his face, but with a firm hand and voice he spoke to them saying,

"I am King of Gondor and it is my right and privilege to sign whatever treaties I will…The victory over Khamul and his dark empire belonged to me and to the men of Gondor's armies not to you. If it were not for their aid Gondor would have been lost without king, and you would be fighting the war at the very borders of Gondor itself!"

At this he walked away and Mithrandir sighed, turning away from the scene he saw Celebrin the elf standing silently observing what was happening. With a gentle nod the elf turned upon his heel and left, following in the direction that Queen Ashthera took.

The next day the ceremony was to begin and many people, men, women and children filled the central plaza and surrounding areas, much as they had with the procession but instead of a military appearance to it, there were garlands of desert flowers and green boughs from the river trees wound in wreathes. The banners had been removed from the wall and a great hearth was lit in the center of the city. For the morning there were different entertainments, dancers and acrobats as well as a great feast of many different aromas, tastes, colors and textures. Mithrandir was astonished at the size of the feast given the relative sparseness of the food he encountered when he journeyed through the encampments within the Orocarni. Finally at the hour of twilight the marriage ceremony began, it was in the custom of the Utashtegu as Mithrandir was told and all these things that he observed were alien and foreign to him.

The queen was dressed in a red linen robe, simple compared to what she usually wore and she wore a white veil under her crown that draped over the top of her head, over her shoulders and fell like light sea foam to the floor. The white veil was thin and embroidered with delicate red and pink flowers. The red ochre tattoos flowed from the tips of her fingers and covered her entire arm and seemed to cover her torso for a fine line of them could be seen coming out of the collar of her robe and dancing up her neck. The tattoos were made of fine flowing figures and seemed to weave around her body like flowering vines, here and there blossoming into full five pointed roses. Ciryaher wore a resplendent blue tunic and fine velvet leggings which he had brought from Gondor, the fine craftsmanship simmering in richly embroidered dragons and stars that lined his sleeve cuffs and collar. At the beginning of the ceremony another woman stood before a great hearth, dressed in black and blue garments, dotted with silver and gold stars, the same ochre tattoos lined her hands and her sandaled feet. As the Queen approached her, she rose her hands to the twinkling stars and spoke words to the sky in a strange tongue which Mithrandir could not interpret, then bowing to the kneeling woman she removed her crown and placed it on the woman's head, passing on the mantle of Queen to her.

The ceremony continued as Ciryaher and the veiled woman began repeating what appeared to be vows in Alamb-Harad, read by Pallando who stood before the great fire. A red ribbon was then wrapped around their wrists, connecting them hand-to-hand; unlike the western wedding ceremony there was no exchange of rings but an exchange of necklaces. Upon Ciryaher's neck she tied a simple leather string, from which hung a small turquoise stone; he in turn placed upon her a intricately carved necklace made of shell, the handicraft of the elves of Mithlond or Edhellon, Mithrandir could not discern which it was. Finally the twain walked around the great fire and in four moments stopped, took incense from a small clay bowl and threw it into the fire releasing a sweet smell and light hued smoke into the sky. Then they stood before all sealing their vows with a kiss; at this moment the queen slowly removed her head scarf, and handed it to an attendant. As she removed her embroidered veil from her head, shimmering jet black hair, curled in undulating waves, cascaded down her shoulders. She removed her enveloping veil and revealed to all a dark olive skinned face that smiled regally with the full wisdom of the ages and who, through brilliant gray eyes, looked lovingly at the King of Gondor. Anatse, dressed in the garb of Queen Ashthera, placed her hands in Ciryaher's and he spoke in a whisper that only they could hear, his voice quivering with exultation and happiness,

"I knew…I hoped…I had such hope it was you."

"Then your wish was granted."

At this the pair embraced each other and their lips touched as a great cheer erupted from the crowd and from the council upon the hill. The Lords of Gondor begrudgingly clapped their hands though they wore faces filled with shock or slow-burning anger. The rest of the night was filled with entertainments such as dances or expositions of battle skill. Clouds covered the sky the next few days and in these days the Council prepared for the rebuilding of the city; Narmacil's garrison was permanently stationed in Khavul and Narmacil received the rank of Sergeant of the Eastern Regiment. The men and women under Narmacil formed a standing armed guard and began rebuilding the old Harad road which led from the gates of Khavul to Osgiliath. The Ayab-Mamuk, in gratitude and pledge of allegiance to Ciryaher and Anatse, gave fine ivory jewelry, statues and sword hilts, carved from the tusks of the fallen Mumakil. They in turn received the land of their heritage and governed the lands south of the Haradwaith which was Gondor's claim. The Harad loyal to the Seven nations were given one third of Khavul to make their own and their caravans were given special license and documents which allowed them unquestioned access to the Harad Road and trade in Osgiliath and Khavul. The Khand, who aided Ciryaher, received no land from Gondor or Khavul for their lands were in the farthest reaches of the East, yet in the years to come Ciryaher Hyarmendacil sent his armada to the coasts of the far east to make peace there on behalf of his new allies. The Khand loyal to Khamul, however were removed from their lands near Umbar and taken to the lands south of Ithilien, next to the southern border of Mordor. The Utashtegu and all their people received the largest of the treaty, for their lands reached from Khavul to the roots of the Orocarni and eastward to the lands of the Easterlings encompassing the Talath-Anorui and Eastward to the golden river which was deemed the land of the Khand. Khavul itself was to be inhabited by many people though it mostly fell under the stewardship of the Harad and Utashtegu who ruled it through two main chieftains. The Hamadjon asked of Ciryaher that they be given their ancient homelands of Harandor and Lebennin yet at this the Lords of Gondor spoke harsh words and one among them said to Ciryaher,

"Surely you will not relinquish these lands to them? Long have the men of Numenor and their descendents lived upon these lands and their blood defended the coasts from Khamul's navies! Or do you wish to give the land of Gondor to a band of roaming she-devils?!"

At this Ciryaher set his jaw firm and spoke to the offending Lord,

"The Hamadjon have fought fiercely for their freedom, more so than any soldier of Gondor…yet I must agree…"

Turning to the Hamadjon chieftain, who stood tall before him, carrying the axe of Hipholuta, he said, conciliatory,

"I am sorry, Penedhislea, in the long years you have been gone from these lands, the men of Gondor have lived and built their settlements upon the shores by the bay of Belfalas. It is their land by ancient rite, I cannot take that land from them."

The chieftain ripped a piece from her cloak and let it fall to the floor by her feet,

"My mother's people will not concede this matter! It matters not to us what men may have settled there, my foremothers and ancestors made that land their home, long before the men of Numenor came with their ships. It was my fore-mothers who allowed your Elendil to sail up the Great River and found Osgiliath! By their generosity did your first steps on this land prove firm…does that mean nothing!"

Ciryaher was silent at first, worry written in his brow, suddenly a firm voice came from the corner of the room in which they stood debating these matters. Anatse walked toward them and placed a calm and soft hand upon her husband's shoulder,

"Husband, there must be some way that the men of Gondor and the tribes of the Hamadjon can live upon that land in peace? Is there another land to which you can move the Gondorians who have settled in Lebennin or Harondor? Or another which you can more freely give to the Hamadjon to make as their own?"

The same Lord of Gondor who spoke at first said in an even harsher tone,

"See! Already the Queen of the East need but lay her hands to influence our King! You may have given up the lands of the East to her, but you cannot give up the lands of Gondor itself, that your father and father's fathers ruled since time immemorial! My King you cannot be swayed by this…"

At this the King rose to his full height and said in a strong and angry tone,

"Be wary of where you open your serpent tongue, Angciryon! You will not address my wife in such manner, for whether you like it or not she is your queen and her voice is as welcome here as yours…perhaps more!"

Ciryaher then turned to Penedhislea and said sorrowfully,

"I cannot concede the lands of your fore-mothers, but perhaps you may take the coasts north of Umbar, yet that is Gondorian land and I would ask that you swear fealty to me and to the throne of Gondor…I would make your chieftain a Lord of Gondor as all my other Lords and all that would be required of you would be to come as the King may request the aid of your arms."

Penethislea shook her head and said,

"Never shall my warriors or my people be under the rule of man be he good or evil; we have always ruled ourselves and will take no other as our ruler, save Anatse who has been our steadfast ally and has proven herself capable to be our Queen if she will accept us as her people."

Anatse looked shocked at first and then Penethislea bent to her knee and said,

"If you will have us Anatse of the Utashtegu, the Hamadjon shall be yours…never shall we fail to come to your aid or the aid of your daughters…Will you take us?"

For a moment Anatse hesitated and then taking the hilt of Madea, the battle axe of Hiphoulta she said,

"I shall be glad in this…the Hamadjon shall be my personal guard and their own nation, ruled as they see fit. Rise Penedhislea, you are nomad no more, Khavul is now your home."

This and many other exchanges took place in the days that followed the wedding; these days changed into weeks and it was then time, when all oaths had been taken and all treaties made official that the Lords of Gondor returned to their homelands. Ciryaher remained behind with his men to help rebuild the city of Khavul, the first planned building was a great hall from which the Council of the Seven Nations was to gather and rule, for Khavul was to be the central city and seat of power for the Eastern alliance. This hall stood over where Khamul's tower once had stood and the walls of Khavul were torn down and built anew by the Hamadjon and Utashtegu. The wall utilized four gates, from which four roads led to the new lands of the East: the north road led into the lands of the Utashtegu and ended at the southernmost tip of the Red Mountains, where the plain of the stone towers lay. To the South was the Harad road which went directly south for many miles before curving upward and meeting the west road in their course to Osgiliath; in this manner, traders from Harad and Khavul could take either road to reach the capital of Gondor. The eastern road entered the land of the Khand and ended at the largest city by the eastern sea, which only the Men of Numenor had once built and given to the Khand when their power waned. In this way was the Eastern land made anew by Ciryaher Hyarmendacil and Anatse Xidlalique; they were beloved by the people of the East and great love existed between them for in times when they had some privacy they often looked deeply into each other's eyes or shared a few brief moments of laughter. Many who looked upon them could not help but be filled with joy and love and soon some Lords of Gondor took to Anatse as their queen and loved her well, for she was beautiful and fair-minded in her dealings with her own people and with those of Gondor. Saruman, Pallando and Alatar remained in Khavul as advisors to the King and to Anatse, who was beginning to be called the Queen of Khavul, though in truth she held no such office but garnered for herself the respect of the Eastern peoples, much as her mother Cidhrali had done in the years before. Mithrandir however began his preparations to leave a few months after travelling with Narmacil to the Orocarni to bring the people of the Red Mountains to their new lands and to find the locations of the dams which Khamul used to block up the rivers. On October 25, 1051 years after the beginning of the third age, Mithrandir placed waybreads and water skins into his saddlebags preparing for the long trip into the west, deciding to go with some Gondorian soldiers along the Harad Road. While he was securing his saddle straps a voice to him from behind,

"So you now take your leave of the East do you, Incanus?"

Turning Mithrandir saw the smiling face of the elf Celebrin, which he had not seen since the night of the wedding,

"Incanus? That is what Khamul called me once, I hope it is not a name that will stick."

"In Alamb-Harad, loosely it means 'northern spy', yet it is similar to an Utashtegu name meaning 'ruler of the birds of prey' that is pronounced Inka-nushahir. It is a name Dhraloku gave you, before he…before he died."

Mithrandir walked over to Celebrin and said,

"I wonder why he said that?"

"Perhaps he thought your leadership in war was great."

"Perhaps… I must admit, I was surprised that Queen Ashthera was not your wife, Cidhrali. I had thought it would have been."

"No, Cidhrali was the Queen of the Council when you first met her but she abdicated many years ago…before she died."

"I am sorry I did not know…"

For a moment the elf looked at the rising sun, trying to hide a slight stream of tears that descended the curve of his cheek, his memory flowed back to that night 5 years ago when he knelt by the bedside of his wife as she lay covered in many blankets her graying hair combed straight and framing her withered face. He held her shivering hands and for the first time felt how loosely the skin folded in his grip- no longer firm and supple as they had been in her youth. She looked up at him and said in a hoarse voice,

"Thank you…"

Through tears and a broken voice he said,

"For what?"

Smiling she placed her hand upon his cheek and stroked it softly, deftly, as she had done many times before moving two fingers along the scarred ridge of the sickle beneath his right eye,

"For letting me share just a few years with you…they were the most blessed years…of my life."

"You cannot leave me Cidhrali…you promised…you promised to see this war to the end…to be with me."

Through a broken voice Celebrin lay his head upon her breast as though he were a child, his grief ripping a hole into his chest and reaching down into his gut stirring the cold darkness within.

"It is not for me to decide when the ancestors will call me home…I will see this battle to the end…just not as living being."

"You…you brought me back to life…I don't know how I will live without you."

Wiping the tears from her husband's eyes Cidhrali of the Utashtegu kissed him upon the lips,

"You must find a way…you are stronger than you think you are…you have to be…for…our daughter and for yourself…I…I have always loved you, Cedlal."

Celebrin shook the memory from his mind as the scar in his heart began to open once again, he smiled weakly at Mithrandir,

"It was her time…At least that is what the mortals say to buffer their sorrow when a loved one dies."

"And what do the immortals say?"

With a slight shrug of his shoulders the elf sighed,

"I am not sure, but in this case neither method of solace would bring much comfort."

At this the elf looked to sky and his resolve broke, he laughed as one hale and without sense as though the sound emanating from his mouth was broken free from his lungs.

"I have lived for countless years before, but for once…for once the years went by slowly and I felt every day, every hour and season…I feel as though I lived an entire lifetime."

"You have in a way… You lived your entire life among elves and for that reason perhaps time did not weigh upon you as it does to those who age and die. Mortals feel the everyday in such a unique way; each day, each moment is tainted by the fact that they will die- whether by war, disease or the long stretch of time. That is why there is a caution and a taboo attached to the joining of elves and men."

"Perhaps you are right, Mithrandir, it is no wonder they desire a longer life – the way they experience life, it is almost richer, and their _fear_ burn quicker; already it feels as though mine is near extinguishing and yet I cannot regret it."

"Such cold council cannot be good for you Uial…You sound as though you wished to wither and die as they do. And I think…I think for your sake you should return with me to the West, to the land of your kindred."

"Why? Why should I return?"

Mithrandir stood back as the elf looked at him with a fierce smoldering in his eyes, the black depths shimmering pale obsidian from the wounded soul within. Slowly Mithrandir gripped his gnarled staff trying to summon some words of comfort, words that might reignite the elf's slowly smoldering soul,

"I mean not to order you, my friend, only to caution you… Perhaps among your own kind, among those that love you- you might learn to rekindle the light of your soul and not let it dampen and grow cold…And that is what I think will happen, if you live as mortals do much longer."

The elf seemed to consider these words, he slumped against the wall of the stables and looked at his hands and then at his face in a small mirror that hung on a post, smiling hopelessly he said,

"Do elves have wrinkles Mithrandir?"

"I have never known an elf who did."

Turning to Mithrandir he said,

"Well now you do…"

Mithrandir was at first taken aback but then he saw to what the elf was referring to, upon the edge of his wide dark eyes lay the unmistakable marks of crow's feet. There were other marks on the corners of his gentle, slightly sun-burnt lips and a slight hint of darkening stubble at the tip of his sounded chin. They were too light to be noticed by normal men or from a great distance, and to any normal eye Celebrin looked no older than a young man of 26. Yet now Mithrandir beheld him and the gently carved marks seemed to glare out at him, taunting him. Smiling Celebrin sat upon a bench beside the water trough and said sighing,

"Already you see it Mithrandir, the slow smoldering of my fea…I am aging, I have felt it for some time… I am becoming, for lack of a better word, mortal."

"But you are not one of the Peredhel, the choice between a mortal life and an immortal one is not yours to have."

"Then how do you explain it? For good or ill, I have abandoned the life of the Eldar or it has abandoned me… "

Mithrandir was silent at first and then spoke, sitting next to the elf, placing his arm around the elf's stooped shoulders,

"All the more reason to return with me, to reclaim the life of the Eldar and not pass away as a shadow of grief…They still look for you upon the rising of the sun, perhaps now is the time to return home."

"No…I know what you will say and the warnings you will give me, but my place is here. Like Nellas and Eol before me, my place among the elves, among my kindred, is no more. Go back into the West, Mithrandir, and tell them…Tell them I fell in battle, that they should mourn me as one dead, so that they may be able to carry on with their lives."

With that the elf stood and left the stables; Mithrandir would have chased after him but the hour already was getting late and he must reach the curve of the Harad road by night fall lest he be caught in the desert without water or protection. Before he left he saw the elf with Anatse, smiling and it seemed as though all his sorrow had melted away; the old Istar said a silent prayer for the elf, to whom he could not say, but in his heart he knew it was immediately answered.


	38. Of Blessings and Horrors

_Many thanks to Elfique for her many and very positive reviews. _

_This Story is nearing the end for now, but my fingers will not be retiring. There will be a short story about Anatse and Ciryaher; I feel the need to write about them in detail and to set history aright to the way Tolkien intended it. _

* * *

The years began to pass in the East as Ciryaher Hyarmendacil rebuilt the lands of Khavul; first the dams of Khamul had to be found and re-won from the evil Harad who had fled to their secret locations. When that had been accomplished the dams were broken and for the first time in many centuries the waters of the Orocarni flowed freely into the Talath Anorui and down to Khavul, joining together to form a large river to rival Anduin in the West. At first the water flowed warm and dark as mud, yet as the desert sand was washed away and replaced with rich dark sediment, tall grasses began to grow and after several years the flood plains of Khavul were once again used to grow and harvest grain and vegetation. The city of Khavul grew in majesty as bright clay buildings arose in terraces, mixing a variety of architectural styles: Gondorian, Utashtegu, Harad and Hamadjon. The roads that Hyarmendacil built proved well for the prosperity of Khavul as merchants from Harad, Gondor, Khand and the lands further south came to ply their trade and wares in that city. The king traveled from time to time to Gondor to maintain the city and to placate the Lords of Gondor, yet in truth his heart lay in Khavul with his wife, Anatse. Each year that passed he hoped for a child to grace them and more so for a son to ensure his lineage and provide a prince for Gondor. Yet among several of the Lords of Gondor a child born of Anatse and Hyarmendacil was an undesirable thing and they began in secret to seek for a way to lure their king back to Gondor, and to take a new wife of true Numenorean blood.

Despite this, the years that passed were peaceful and filled with joy; Anatse was named head of the Council that ruled Khavul, as her uncle and mother had been before her, and she ruled over matters of state wisely, with her father and the three Istari Alatar, Pallando and Saruman by her side. One day, seven years after the forces of Gondor conquered Harad and the army of Khamul, Anatse whispered to her husband a secret she had learned only a few weeks before. Upon hearing it he leapt into the air for joy and announced from the balcony that circled the roof of their home in Khavul that Anatse was with child. The entire city erupted with joy and even a few places in Gondor rejoiced. The gossip in Osgiliath was that the aged Queen of Khavul used dark magic to get with child, for in that time she already neared 40, though in appearance she looked no older than half that age. The months of her pregnancy went by and on the full moon of Afteryule she cried out in a pain mixed with joy that water flowed from between her legs. For many long hours she lay in bed, tended by her father and a midwife, while Ciryaher paced the Great Council's hall, surrounded by the Lords of Gondor and the Council of the Seven Nations.

One of Ciryaher's oldest and noblest advisors, Calmacil the Steadfast, called the king to a corner in private, asking him in hushed tones,

"Should they bring the child to you, my King Hyarmendacil, perhaps it would be wise not to take it in your arms."

"You are being a foolish Calmacil, I must acknowledge my child- you know that. He will not be a bastard as other kings before me have had."

"I do not mean ignore the babe, I mean only leave it in the arms of the midwife; for I fear that if you took the child in your arms in public, you would, by the letter of the law name that child your lawful heir, and heir to the throne of Gondor- an action many of the Lords would not take kindly to."

"What's this? Are there secrets kept from me among my own counselors and vassals?!"

"Only that the Lords fear to say out loud what many in the streets are gossiping about you; that you would put a child of half-heritage upon the throne of Gondor…or worse, move the kingdom to the East and your throne to Khavul itself."

"I will not divorce my wife Calmacil, I made that very clear! Nor will I abandon the lands of my father to rule a kingdom in the East. My child will not be of half heritage, it shall be of two glorious ones…This child will unite East and West in ways you and those ignorant half-blind fools cannot even dream to imagine. Now I will not hear of this again!"

At this the King heard a great cry of a woman's pain echo through the silent city; it was a cry that came from the very depths of the soul, a cry the Utashtegu called the "wail of creation". Silence followed and for what seemed like an eternity the entire city of Khavul held their breath. Suddenly a shrill and almost inaudible cry entered their ears; it was small, like the gentle ringing of bells calling to the stars and moon announcing that a new soul had entered the world. At this great cheers went up from the Council of the East and some among the Lords of Gondor shouted with shouts of joy and laughter, patting Ciryaher Hyarmendacil upon the back. A few minutes passed before the doors to the hall were opened and from the darkness of the night outside and into the light of the torches and chandeliers emerged the elf Celebrin, caring in his arms a small bundle of moving limbs and gentle piercing cries. He walked toward the King of Gondor and with a gentle, smooth bow of his head, he said, choking back tears,

"You have a son…"

The King chuckled a little as the tension left his throat and looking around at the gathered faces he turned his strong warrior arms into a cradle and the elf placed the small creature into it. Immediately the babe ceased crying and the King was reduced to tears as he saw the slightly darkened skin of the child and the brilliant black hair that topped its head; his eyes were dark pools of wisdom and within them a gentle star glowed to the world. But the peace was interrupted by a shout from the doors; the midwife, covered in blood called out to the elf and begged him to come quickly. Immediately the elf ran out of the room and silence fell in the hall and the child began crying again.

* * *

The night passed and a brilliant clear blue dawn emerged in the East; Celebrin walked out of Anatse's bedroom covered in bright red blood, massaging his neck and shoulders; before him sat Hyarmendacil and Saruman, as well as Penethislea, and beside her, her lithe husband, holding the child in his arms softly cooing to it. Pouring himself a flagon of wine, the elf said stoically,

"She is resting…She lost a lot of blood and for a time, we came near to losing her."

"Will she recover?"

Ciryaher stood and crossed his arms over his chest, wrapping them around himself as though he were trying to keep the contents of his heart from spilling out.

"It is difficult to say…if she rests then it is very likely. I do not think she will bear you another child, Ciryaher, at least not without considerable risk to herself and the babe."

Tears began to flow down the King's cheeks as he entered his bedchambers and went to his wife's bedside, taking her hand into his own, gently caressing it. When he left, the elf threw the flagon of wine into a corner of the room and fell to his knees, releasing the pain and fear he kept inside. Saruman stood and ushered the other two out of the room as quickly as he could. His voice filled with compassion and tenderness, the old man knelt beside the elf and placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder,

"Shhh, it is alright now, she will live…that is a miracle we should rejoice in."

"You do not understand…I lost her, for a few brief moments I lost her to the shade of death and…and I froze, completely taken over by fear and grief. I can't…I can't watch her die again Curunir, it will utterly destroy me!"

The elf wept into the arms of the Istar and it seemed to him as though his very soul was being ripped from him; the weight upon his chest and the catch in his throat caused immense pain and his fea cried out in sorrow, though his physical form was silently weeping into the gentle arm of the Istar before him.

* * *

Across the great expanse of Middle Earth, past the wastes of the Eastern lands and the Sea of Rhun, beyond the heights of the Misty Mountains and through the land of Eriador that cry traveled coming suddenly and unlooked for upon an old elf, who lay asleep in his bed as the first beams of light began to color the night sky with a hint of white and silver in the east. Cirdan, the Shipwright of Mithlond awoke with a start, he heard a loud crying in the night, like one in pain. He awoke and went to the balcony beside his bedchamber; calling out to the night watchman below he said,

"What has happened? Who is crying out in pain?"

The watchman, startled by the call from above him stumbled with his words,

"Wh…What do you mean my lord?"

"Did you not hear that cry? A great shout as though someone were being mortally hurt!"

"It has been quiet all this night my lord, except for your voice, I have not heard anything above a whisper or the sound of the waves."

Cirdan returned to his room puzzled by this, he thought to himself that he was never really disturbed by dreams in this manner; it felt almost as though he was the one screaming, crying out in pain, for his lungs ached and his throat was dry and scratchy. He paced his room for the remainder of the night; the scream would never leave his mind and all that day he heard echoes of it as others spoke. He tried to erase it from his mind but it would not leave, as though it were a gnawing thing upon his heart; he was musing upon it when a harsh voice entered his mind, he turned to see a rather largely muscled elf standing before him in pale blue robes. The blue was in stark contrast to the ruddy hue of his hair but it was his look of arrogance that put Cirdan off,

"Forgive me Cullofea, perhaps you could repeat your question, my mind is elsewhere these days."

Sighing, the Lord of Forlindon spoke again,

"I was, my Lord Cirdan, inquiring about the position of the Captain of the Tower Guard; it has gone unfilled for over 50 years. Perhaps it is time to appoint a new captain. Meaning no disesepct to your fosterling but there is a heavy duty in manning of the Tower guard and in organizing its ranks, surely you must see my point?"

Turning to a calm looking elf, with stark raven hair and firm expression he said,

"Is this true Gildor? Has the absence of Celebrin sorely affected your guard."

"Why no, my lord, Uial was above all else a master of organization…he trained all the members of the Tower Guard to work without him. We know our duties well, I know not to what my lord Cullofea speaks of."

"Is there some delay in the lighting of the North light tower, Cullofea? That you fear your boats should be moored?"

Becoming agitated the ruddy-haired elf spread his stance firmly upon the ground, crossing his arms he said,

"The Tower Guard performs immensely well but I am merely speaking of the vacancy that has been left behind. Should a dire emergency come or some other cataclysm there is no Captain to man the Tower guard, much less ensure its survival as many more elves begin to leave Middle-Earth."

"That position has always been Celebrin's, Cullofea, and he has not been relinquished from his service to Mithlond… The Tower Guard as you know well performs admirably in his absence and there has been no need to appoint and train new members has there?"

The white-haired elf lord turned to Gildor and looked at him imploringly. The young elf, at least in his eyes, seemed to shift his feet, uneasily,

"Well, we lost Cirvanyar and Harmiriel after the last ship left into the West, and Thilbarad and his sons went into Imladris to serve Elrond and Celebrian after that. We are not in dire straits but we are rather stretched as it is…"

Cirdan sighed and looked at Cullofea who was smiling, beaming with victory,

"Well then Gildor, you were appointed deputy of the Tower Guard…can you not train and appoint new members?"

At this Cullofea spoke at this,

"Inglorion cannot serve as captain of the Tower Guard! You already have him acting as head ambassador to Imladris and Edhellond…another position I might add that…"

"Enough! I will not stand by whilst you slander one who has served this city and its people faithfully for many centuries. Uial shall return to us and when that happens he shall return to his duties as is fitting."

"I know you will not give up hope that your fosterling will return…We all hope that he does, and shall dance for joy at his prodigal return. Perhaps if you but appoint a…an interim Captain, then we might await his return in peace of mind that all shall not turn to chaos."

Cullofea spoke moderately yet to the aged Shipwright he could not hide his elation; Cirdan could have sworn he heard that clicking sound that cats made when they neared their witless prey. Lifting one eyebrow Cirdan said, flippantly,

"No doubt you have a candidate in mind…another of your sister's children in need of a position?"

The lords of Harlond, sitting quietly to Cirdan's right chuckled at this; it was often joked that Cullofea's sister had three too many sons and Cullofea, no matter how hard he tried, always ended up with at least one in need of some position to make him useful.

"I would not presume to push any candidate upon you my Lord Cirdan, but my sister's youngest son, Galdor is more than capable of running the Tower Guard…until Master Uial returns to us, of course."

Cirdan crinkled his nose, he liked Galdor; the young elf was witty enough and intelligent, handsome in many ways and fair in appearance and gait. Though, he had always lived a pampered life under his uncle's wing, always being tutored in the rules of courtly etiquette and always spoke in a manner where he said many flowing and ornate words which meant little and said even less of his true thoughts. He saw how the youth averted his nose, when sailors passed by and in the fish markets he always held a handkerchief to it, never actually touching anything in the market. The youth was not who he would have first considered to be captain of the Tower Guard, which was filled with young eledh who had to climb the long march up the cliffs carrying much wood and oil and must keep watch for boats in the night, covered in soot and smelling of seaweed and ash. And yet, Galdor had a keen mind and when he was given a task he fulfilled it well, often choosing the best people for the job, regardless of whether they liked him or he liked them, which was always a good trait for a bureaucrat. Perhaps if Gildor could train him he would shirk off the training his uncle gave him and prove useful in some greater way than in merely being a spy for his uncle's schemes. Cirdan sighed and turned to Gildor who looked worried, obviously having read the Shipwright's mind,

"I am wary of giving a position of such immense importance to someone so…untried, Cullofea, surely you understand that?"

"I do of course… Perhaps for a position that does not require so much importance to Mithlond, perhaps he might relieve Inglorion of his duties as ambassador. Galdor is very well equipped at speaking and he has a very keen mind for politics and trade, you know , I am sure from the many times he has represented me in your court."

A lord from Harlond spoke out,

"Yet he is unknown and untried in Elrond's court, much less in front of Galadriel and Celeborn…there are few who could meet their gaze and not shrink…I fear the poor boy would faint before he even got a word out."

At this a chorus of laughter erupted from both sides of the council table and even Cirdan smiled at the jest, Cullofea however pressed on, still behaving courtly, though his voice was becoming strained with attempting to monitor its own volume and icy edge,

"Perhaps a test is in order, to test his mettle…I would be willing to drop this matter if we but knew when, and if, Master Uial was returning to us…Send Galdor to Imladris to seek out news of Uial. There is little in Middle-Earth that the Lord and Lady of the Hidden Vale do not know for all manner of folk pass through their House on their way from North to South and East to West. If he has, as rumor tells me, devoted himself to Celeborn again, then Celebrian of Imladris would know for sure and we would not need to hold onto his positions since he has become Herald again to the family of Elmo."

At this Cirdan considered…Celebrin was known for spending long periods of time away from home, yet the last time he was gone so long was because of his devotion to serving Celeborn, a devotion the Shipwright never particularly liked. Perhaps the rumor was true and he never intended to return, never wanting again to look upon his foster-father's face…still associating it with betrayal. The ancient elf sighed and said diplomatically,

"You are right Cullofea, word should be found if Celebrin does indeed plan on returning…however I would not dare burden such a young ellon with this task…No, this is a family matter and should be done by family. I shall go to Imladris and seek word of my kinsman; Gildor will take up my seat here until I return, then…and only then, shall my judgment be rendered."

At this the council erupted into talk and debate; some, Cullofea none the least of all stood silent, caught somewhere between shock and confusion. This, the proud noble elf did not expect and Cirdan smiled knowing he had caught the calculating Noldo unawares. He stood silently as the council debated amongst each other if there was a law that prevented the Shipwright of Mithlond to leave, which of course there was not. Only Gildor followed him out of the hall through a simple beech wood door that stood in the southern end of the hall and led into a narrow gray corridor. Gildor Inglorion had been surprised few times by Cirdan in all his time living in Mithlond, for in all those years Cirdan seemed like something unmoving, more a feature of Mithlond itself rather than a one who lived in it. Gildor had begun to think that the old elf was getting complacent and was beginning to fade into the world around them, as he had heard some elves did when they reached old age…if that even existed for elves.

Yet now Cirdan seemed alive, not happy or joyful but actually alive; he moved with a speed he never had before and began walking quickly through the corridor coming to a bright auburn door at the end. With the turn of a key the Shipwright entered his private quarters leaving the door halfway open, as though closing it was an afterthought. Gildor wondered at this and did not know if the ancient elf was meaning for him to enter or if he had forgotten him. The sounds of bustling came from within and Gildor slowly stepped into the private quarters of the shipwright. The place had not changed in all the years since he had been there, several books still littered the small study desk in the Northern corner and the bed, barely made in haste still looked out toward the balcony on the western edge. The cypress now had grown larger and its branches and roots began to enter the room, the nooks and crannies of the twisted wood becoming places where the shipwright's garments hung. The shipwright began undressing himself from his garments and having shirked off his robe revealed that he wore the simple garment of a sailor still as was his wont, though he rarely went out to sea these days. Gildor watched him as he made provisions for his journey, gathering his clothing into his satchel as well as some maps and other such things. Finally he spoke,

"My lord…You cannot possibly think of going to Imladris? Send me I shall gladly go."

Without looking up Cirdan spoke evenly,

"No I spoke my mind in the hall, this is a personal family matter and I shall deal with it as I see fit, besides I have a greater duty for you. I need you to take Galdor to sea."

"You could ask me to turn a rock into drinking water and I think that will be easier than even this task."

The Shipwright let out a slight chuckle,

"No doubt it will be hard, but I need you to begin his training at sea…If he is to become the Captain of the Guard then he must live among the sailors and guards; he must come to know their ways and the hardships of their lives."

"You intend to make him Captain of the Guard!?"

"No…but I must be ready for anything, regardless of what news I learn in Imladris"

"He will return my lord he always does…he is just, taking a sabbatical."

"I do not think he is Gildor…I wish he were…but in my heart I can feel…I feel as though he is slipping away from my sight, as though he no longer lives in this world."

At this the ancient elf stopped moving as though the very words he spoke were a sentence of doom. He seemed to see a great canyon lit in the dimness of the evening twilight; surrounding him was a barren land and at the far end of the canyon stood a figure silhouetted in black, the stars wheeling slowly behind it. He called out to the shadow but at this the stars spun like a pinwheel. A great sound of wings came crashing overhead and an enormous black wing covered the figure; the great black raven let out its mournful cry before taking off into the sky, when he looked back at the other end of the canyon the figure was gone and the stars fell from the sky…

"My Lord Cirdan?"

Gildor looked worriedly at the ancient elf next to him; blinking from his brief foray into the dream realm; the ancient elf took in a deep breath.

"Get Galdor away from Cullofea as often as you can, train him the best way you know how…Maybe…Perhaps there is some way the young ellon may learn some independence from Forlindon before he can take the post."

At this the ancient elf looked directly at Gildor's eyes, a thing he rarely ever did. For a moment Gildor was taken aback, the deep blue of the elf's eyes drew him into them. The dark halo around his iris seemed to grow with a great intensity and Gildor knew that he was asking him something from the depth of his soul. Though he could not understand the question he merely nodded and in an instant the Lord of Mithlond was gone, away to the stables to make the journey to Imladris.


	39. The Final Miles

_As always please Read and Review. This was originally one very long chapter but I cut it in half and I hope it works well. _

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The sun began its slow ascent in the East; the golden and the rosy beams that preceded it arched across the sky in gentle flowing rivers of light. The stars began to fade away except for the brightest of them; in the West it was called Eärendil but among the peoples of the East it was called In-hanna or Yzhdala. For those brief moments of glorious mixing of the lights Celebrin felt as peace with the world; the cool desert night was giving way to a quickly warming morning and in the distance he could smell the slight scent of moisture. He felt a tear flow down his cheek and slowly wiped it away with his fingertips; he stood upon the newly built wall of Khavul and the battlement that marked the Eastern entrance. He turned and looked at the slowly growing city, the sandstone bricks that were cut from the mountains reflected the rising sun with a gentle change from deep purple to brilliant scarlet to auburn gold. The buildings were laid out in a square grid, reflecting Numenorean planning but the architectures were a mixture of the domed villas of the Hamadjon, the palisade-style apartments of the Utashtegu and the large temple like structures of the Harad, with their sloping walls and pyramidal roofs. The great city center housed an open air market and in the midst of it was round arena like pit, where the Council of the Seven Nations would gather under a bright richly embroidered red canopy. The elf sighed as he beheld the vision before him; once more a city arose under his watch and this one he felt more proud of than the others he had helped build in the past. He looked at the harmony of the city, now that the wars had ceased and it had been many long years since the end of the war; Gondorian traders came through the Western gate, bringing fine silks, steel and the coin of Gondor.

Ciryaher Hyarmendacil would be returning today; after the birth of his son he rode westward taking the good news to his people that their long awaited heir was born. Celebrin knew that the news would not be welcome in some places of the Southern Kingdom; he sensed it and heard it from the mouths of many of the Lords of Gondor and among some soldiers who did not see or hear him as he walked the streets of Khavul. Curunir, now called Saruman, had gone with him leaving the elf to care for his grandson while his daughter recovered from her harsh and taxing delivery. The child was quick to grow and in a few short weeks he sat up and in two months he began to crawl and laugh; a great joy filled the elf's heart as the child bounced on his knee or twirled the dark strands of his granfather's hair in his tiny fingers. The elf thought of these things as he walked the streets of Khavul, returning to Anatse's villa that stood in the Utashtegu quarter of the city, right beside the market. It had been a little over a year since the King of Gondor had been in Khavul, the needs of his grown kingdom needing more and more of his attention…somehow, the elf thought, he must convince the man to stay a bit longer with his wife and child, perhaps even to convince Anatse to go with Ciryaher to Gondor. He knew she would not, her mother's stubbornness to serve her people was strong; but he knew if they were not together it would all too easy for the Lords of Gondor to tear them apart. Divorce was an entirely rare thing among the elves, in fact it was never done unless great sorrow or malady took one spouse; yet among mortals it seemed common place, even in the past years many young Gondorian men divorced their Eastern wives and returned to Gondor to seek wives of their own kin. Those that stayed were often considered sundered from their own people, Narmacil was one of these, he even took the name Hiphomanes, a Hamadjon name.

When he arrived at the villa a loud cry of joy entered his ears,

"Darbha! Grandfather!"

The young child of Anatse ran with his stumbling legs through the garden courtyard and leapt into the elf's awaiting hands. Though only one year old the child hand learned to walk and speak a few words quickly, a trait the elf thought seemed to be passed down from his own lineage. Anatse was picking pomegranates from a tree in the courtyard when she saw her father and welcomed him with a warm smile; she had never seen him happier than when he held the boy in his hands.

"Cedladl is never so far from you…this morning he tried to see where you went; he looked all over the house…I think he even wanted to go into the city and find you."

The elf sighed and sat the child in the shade of the pomegranate tree and gave him a tiny treat made of honey and sweet grains which he had procured from the market. Worry streaked across his face and he said sorrowfully,

"Anatse…"

The young woman looked at her father and saw the furrowed brow he used when he needed to say something serious,

"Yes abha? What worries you? Ciryaher is returning today…there is peace now."

She set down the basket she held the fruits in and knelt beside him, already tears began to flow from his eyes,

"It is not that. When Cedladl was born, I almost watched you die."

"But I did not abha, because of your skill as a healer…"

The elf held up his hand to hold his daughter from speaking,

"Nevertheless, I came to realize that for all the ways in which you remind me of myself…and for all the ways that young Cedladl seems to grow like one of my kind I cannot help but think, but know that you are indeed of your mother's kind…you are mortal."

"We do not know that for sure."

The elf looked at his daughter's face and already saw the deep set lines of middle age, the lines at the corners of her eyes the thinness of her fingers and they held his own hands, their once youthful softness now turned hardened and rough. She still seemed so young but in his eyes she was older, far older than she would look if she were of the elf kind. Long lived she would be, he had no doubt about that, but mortal nonetheless.

"I know it…I do not find sorrow in this; after watching your mother die I know the path that awaits you, and that will await him…"

He said motioning to the babe in front of them,

"Do not even say such things!"

He grabbed hold of his daughter's hands and held them to his heart; with determination he spoke the last few words slowly and measuredly,

"Death is a natural thing for the mortal kind and you should never be frightened of it. I wanted to say this and that you must find some way of keeping Ciryaher here…the child deserves to have his father with him, at least for the first years of his life, to learn from him."

"Cedladl has you abha, you can teach him all you know…as you taught me."

"I cannot…"

"What do you mean?"

"I began my journey many years ago because someone dear left me…I left to find some way of living beyond the grief and despair my former life gave to me, and for a brief moment in time I did find it, in your mother, in you. But that time is coming to an end, your mother is gone to a place where I cannot follow; and…whether I chose it or not you will follow her as well."

He tightened his hold upon her hands as he sensed her desire to get up and walk away from him, tears began to stream down her cheeks as she looked at him, not wanting to hear the words that he said, but dutifully listening to them,

"I love you Anatse…you are my own true heart walking about in the world and for that I am glad; but now…with no war to fight, no land to defend, no enemy to hold back, that same grief returns to me and now it has turned to fear…fear that I might one day bear witness to your…to his…and I cannot."

The elf's voice began to crack and he loosened his grip upon her hands, instead of walking away the woman took her shawl and wiped his tears from his eyes. He breathed slowly and resumed,

"I do not have the strength for it Anatse, I nearly broke when your mother died…Now that I fear your death too…I fear that I will become this lonely shade at your side, always watching and fearing for your life, strangling your desire to live as you wish to live. I must do what all parents must and let you live your life; to live, to love, and…to die. You are strong Anatse, stronger than you know, and I have no doubt you will lead your people to be a great nation, to make this land a paradise after the hell it once was. I say this because you must do it without me."

"Abha…"

"I am selfish Anatse…I am so sorry that I am so selfish…I would have loved to have seen you both grow in wisdom and love."

She took him in her arms and he wept into the warmth of her neck; that day Ciryaher returned to his wife's home and took his son in his arms, calling him Uialasse and giving the boy a small toy soldier made by the tin-smiths in Osgiliath. That night their little family ate dinner and Celebrin seemed untroubled, filled with joy and spoke with Ciryaher of the affairs of state. Together Celebrin and Anatse spoke with him about Cedladl and eventually he proposed that he would leave Gondor under the care of his most trusted advisor and he would rule from Khavul by way of messenger. Comforted that his grandson had his father at least for a few more years, he walked with Anatse to the North gate which led to the Orocarni. It was midnight and they walked silently through the city streets, saying nothing, not really needing to; Celebrin led a young black colt laden with small provisions of food and water. When they reached the gate Anatse was reluctant to let go of his hand,

"Why must you leave tonight? Stay, for a few days at least…"

"Anatse…do not hold on to me. I am only going to the mountains, to find some peace and solace…perhaps even to heal the old wounds I have tried to heal since I came to the East from my homelands. If ever you need me, go to the lands of the Utashtegu, the place where you spent your childhood, where your mother has been laid to rest. There is a small stream, do you remember it?"

She nodded reluctantly and whispered, "The stream that leads to the lands of the Kadjinai."

"Follow the stream and turn West, there is a great gorge that cuts across the mountains, between the lands of your mother's people and the lands of the mists. There are many caves there, in one of these I shall make my home."

"But what of the fell demons that live there?"

"They have never harmed me as I walked that gorge alone, seeking any sight of them during those brief days of peace before the main part of the war began…I do not think they will seek me out and I do not fear them. Besides this the gorge does not seem to be their land, it is south of the stream that marks the borders of their land, or so the elders say."

"You are an elder too are you not?"

The woman smiled and the elf returned the smile, which quickly faded,

"I suppose I was…You are a blessing to me Anatse…I shall ever hold you in my heart, my daughter."

"And I you, my father."

With one last embrace, the elf led the horse through the North gate, not looking back from fear that he would be tempted to stay. The woman, Anatse watched as the man she knew as her father walked the long lonely road to the north, to the refuge lands of her people, until he disappeared in the horizon. She sighed as the hooting of a night owl entered her ears, the nocturnal creature flew from its perch above the gate and into the desert wilderness where it made its daytime home. Then she ordered the gate be shut before returning home to her husband and her son.

Celebrin walked on the darkly lit road for some time before turning back, trying to put as much distance between him and the city as possible for fear that if her were discern where his daughter's house stood he would be too tempted to turn back. By the time he stopped to rest he look out upon the river valley where Khavul lay, the city was a brilliant amber speck in the midst of the gray lands, its light catching upon the blue flowing waters of the river, Khavul. On the road he now stood he was at the very edge of the Talath Anorui, the fire plain that had been so long the great protector of the Utashtegu and their allies. He had once hated the great expanse of desert but had over the years grown to love it as one loves the battlement walls of a besieged city. Now the desert would separate him from the world of men, of which he, for so brief a time, was a part. There at the beginning of the desert Anatse and the council had built a well for travelers, now that they had days of peace and there were many caravans and travelers who wished to journey again into the net of the red mountains. The Orocarni would soon return to their original intent as a place of hiding and refuge but also as a place of spiritual reverence, for they were, in the minds of the Utashtegu, still the dwelling place of the Kadjinai. Celebrin chuckled at the thought of him returning there and no doubt the tales that would be told about his disappearance, and indeed they were made in the years that passed. These tales spoke often of the spirit who gave aid to the children of mortals and freed them from bondage only to disappear and return to his own kind in the netherworld. Sometimes the stories had the promise that he would return, and others said that he cease to be as living person and instead now lived in the hearts and minds of all the Utashtegu. They called him then by different names and the tales became separated and told differently by different peoples, yet the only ones who knew the truth did not wish to write it down, for they judged it best that the people had such a myth, such a figure in their legends. Anatse and Ciryaher had many years of peace and happiness in the days to come but even this was to change, as all happiness seems to do. Their tale is one that is filled with joys and many great sorrows yet it is told in another place and not recounted here in full. Needless to say the elf, Celebrin filled his water skin at the well and continued on his journey; it took him the better part of 5 days to cross the Talath Anorui, for he took a long and leisurely stride, observing and truly seeing the great fire plain, which he never had the luxury to do. By the time the moon reached its fullness Celebrin had reached the old strongholds of the Utashtegu, but he did not stop there and like a shadow returned to his home to get supplies. His journey then took him to that ancient gorge, where he, Tal-ano and Cidhrali spent the night in the cave, escaping the fell creatures of the Orocarni.

He found a deep cave in the gorge's walls, above a small desert spring, the opening of which was covered by deep luscious foliage and brush and faced eastward. He built a stable at the foot of the canyon wall and there made a place to store grain and to keep the black steed he brought with him. The place where he lived was no more than a day's journey from the nearest Utashtegu village and was roughly three days from the road, though he could reach it within a day and a half if need pressed him. His mind would ever fall on his daughter and her child, and at times he would greatly desire to visit her, but his will stopped him. Instead he carved terraces into the rock face and there grew a garden, from which he gathered his food. Since the tyranny of Khamul had ended and the river Khavul released from its bondage, the rains began to return to the mountains and the gorge soon became an oasis in the desert land, yet no mortals would venture there for it was the dreaded land of the Kadjinai and it was taboo to venture there. Yet every so often a brave youth or warrior would make the journey there and he or she would come upon an enigmatic hermit who gave them succor and led them back home. From these sparse wanderers Celebrin learned a little of the outside world and grew more content in his decision that leaving the world of men to be ruled by men was best, for he heard of the Queen of the East and how she ushered in an era of peace and prosperity for her people and those of other lands. He began then to think of other things, to begin to learn to live with his memories and his sorrows; they would at times cause him to rail at the heavens and to find himself waking from terrifying dreams, but these would pass and he would busy himself with mundane things. A few times his mind would wander to the West and his thoughts would turn to the loved ones he left behind there; yet never once did he think on returning West, for the pain of his memories there were too hard and fear would stop him. And so his journey to the East had come to an end and he had found that which he longed for, peace and solace from so long a life of sorrow and parting.


	40. Unwelcome News or Journey's End

_Well this story has drawn to a close, but Celebrin's tale has not yet finished. It just seemed fitting that the part of his tale called The Journey should end at Chapter 40._

_I want to thank everyone for their reviews and I look forward to writing the next installment in Celebrin's tale._

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Cirdan seldom travelled away from Mithlond, whether because of duty to his people or his own dislike of being far from the ocean he could not say, for what is a cirdan without a place to build ships. Even in Cuiviernen he liked to stay near the sea of Helcar and was most saddened by the Great Journey from his ancient birthplace, until he beheld the great ocean and fell in love with its music. When Celebrin was at Mithlond he did not need to journey far and wide to learn of things for his foster son would be ever willing to journey into the unknown lands of Eriador and gather for him the news of the outside world. Now with him gone that task was left to diplomats and heralds, who like him only walked the prescribed paths and did not venture or speak to other creatures unless they were the Men of the West or at times dwarves. He rode in a light caravan of 5 elves, two guides, two of his servants, guards more likely, and himself; he had wanted to go alone but Gildor forbade it. They left the gate of Mithlond at dawn of the 35th day of Rhiw, the moon was new and dark the night before. They crossed the lands of Arthedain without trouble for the king of that land was great friends of the Shipwright and they bore high the banner of Mithlond, for there was no danger in traveling the open roads. Yet when they came to the lands of Cardolan and Rhudaur they had to stop and meet with the Kings of those lands; it was not because there was great mistrust between elves and men in those days but because a shadow was beginning to emerge in the Northern wastes and orcs began to travel slowly southward in search of resources and captives. These lands Cirdan had no love for, for their people often abandoned the homes of the living to muse on heraldry and the bones of their fathers in their burial mounds. At last, however, at the rising of their third quarter moon, on the last day of Echuir, Cirdan the Shipwright of Mithlond arrived at the ford of Bruinen where he was greeted by a small yet joyous voice that rang out like a bell,

Welcome friends from Western Shore

Who come arrayed in silver we adore

To the lands of the river beneath the mount

Ancient lord of years beyond account

Come and dance with me my kin

Dance to bells of gold and tin

To jingling metals both loud and fair

To greet the chill of new spring's air

Come and dance with us our friends

Seek the place where your road now ends

Through briar and brush and forest wide

To see the lord and his lady at his side

Come and dance with us gentle king

Of whom the most ancient tale doth sing

And whose footsteps on this land once danced

When starry skies held the world entranced

Come and dance with me my ancient one

And sing of mysteries left long unsung.

The single voice crescendo-ed into a full chorus and tambourines and gentle flutes greeted him as he trotted through the elven path that led from the ford to the high archway that marked the lands of Imladris, the House and hearth of Elrond Peredhel. There beneath the archway was a grand retinue of noble elvish lords and ladies, arrayed in bright colors of spring and their servants held twinkling blue lamps, hanging low and high upon silver and bronze chains. In between them all stood an elf lord of dark raven hair, wearing a circlet of dark silver, within which was set brilliant ruby, sapphire and emerald gems. He opened his arms in fellowship and said out loud in the tongue of the Sindar,

"Welcome Cirdan of Mithlond fair, welcome to my home!"

At this Cirdan dismounted his horse and walked to the young elf lord; embracing him in his arms he smelled the deep hearty smell of the woods and the ice cold freshness of the rivers that ran with melted snow. That night a great feast was held in the House of Elrond and it was indeed a sight to behold, fresh venison was laid out, the first hunt of the new year, as were the new berries and the last of autumn's hearty roots and tubers. The chefs of Imladris prepared a splendid meal and the servants weaved in and out of tables pouring ice cold river water from silver pitchers. Cirdan sat between Elrond and Celebrian upon a dais and beside them sat Arwen Undomiel, who had grown into her full maidenhood, resplendent in the finery of her mother's kin. To Elrond's right sat the golden-haired lord of legend, Glorfindel, who smiled more than he ever had and often told jokes to the ancient Shipwright and the two laughed as though they were long friends. The twin sons of Elrond were not present as they were spending the last of winter with their grandparents at the shores of Edhellond. Around them sat the many lords and noble families of Imladris, their tables arrayed beneath banners that told of their heritage and the lords of elves from whom they were descended. Also at the table of Elrond Peredhel sat a company of Dwarves from Moria and men from Arthedain and the Southern Kingdom of Gondor, in brilliant green velvets and golden silks and tawny furs respectively. These latter guests recounted of the victory in the Southern lands and the heroic tales of Ciryaher Hyarmendacil their illustrious king; one even stood and re-enacted his own account of the fall of Umbar, before tripping on his long silken robe. Laughter surrounded the great dining hall and even the birds that nested in the arched ceiling chirped with delight. Much merriment so surrounded Cirdan that he often wondered why he never visited Imladris more often; then his eyes fell upon Celebrian, her silken silver hair cascading sown her slender shoulders. She was staring right at him and giving him a small almost painful smile; at that moment Arwen asked the man of Gondor a question that created a grave silence at Elrond's table.

"Did you meet any elves in the East?"

Celebrian turned to her daughter and wore a look of curiosity upon her brow, the lord of Gondor stammered at first,

"Ah, well…I did not personally go to the battles. My sister's son, Narmacil was there for many years and Varda bless him he has chosen to stay behind, regardless of how much it pains my poor sister to lose her youngest."

At this another Gondorian spoke, a slightly dark man whose hair fell in curls about his head; he was younger than his companion and his hands showed the slow signs of healing from battle scars though his face was spared any mark,

"I was in the East my lady… and though I never saw one of the elder kind there…I did hear rumors."

"Rumors?"

Celebrian's voice finally chimed in, now listening intently to what the young man had to say. Cirdan himself picked up his ears and he noticed that Elrond and Glorfindel too stoically listened, though giving no sign in their faces that anything of great substance was being said; the young man continued, now in a slight whisper,

"The people of the East say that in a range of mountains, far east of Rhun, lies an ancient and powerful race; the Harad call them Jindi and others call them the Kadzinai. They say they move in shadow and steal children from the villages to raise them as their own. They say these people do not age, nor do mortal weapons harm them. It is said they live for years beyond count and some of them steal the women of the east and force themselves upon them. These women sire great warriors and leaders who do not age as men do but live beyond many centuries…"

"This is not right conversation for my Lord Elrond's table, especially with his young daughter nearby…This is all probably some barbaric myth that is attributed to the simple fears of a simple people."

This was spoken by Erestor, Elrond's chief advisor, who had been nervously listening from his seat beside Glorfindel. He looked particularly perturbed and Arwen looked annoyed; rolling her eyes she said,

"Master Erestor still thinks me a young elfling and he forgets his own history…that in the lands of the East there still lives a race of the Quendi…the lost ones, the Avari."

"But surely my lady, you do not think your fellow kinsmen would be capable of…of such depravity as stealing children or…taking mortal women by force."

"The Eldar have done far worse to their own kin Master Erestor…but we do not talk often about the sins of the Feanorion, for fear of stirring up ancient resentment and ancient wounds. Are we to blame the Avari, who had never seen the blessed light of Aman, nor were taught by the noble Valar, for such acts when our own history is written in blood?"

Glorfindel spoke these words and gave Erestor such a look that meant he was not to interrupt them again; the advisor arched one of his eyebrows before falling silent. It was quiet for some time and people nervously ate their food; but it was only a few minutes when Arwen looked at the Southern man and asked him to continue his tale,

"Did the people of the East speak of this happening in recent memory?"

"Well, my lady…not as such. The Harad with whom I had greater dealings, did not speak of it but another nation, who lived far north of the Harad capital said that their great queen was descended from the Jindi. And she is a sight to behold, and she holds an…an unearthly power over men; they become silent when she bids them to and beguiles them with her eyes, to the point that they give her all she asks."

There was a tone of bitterness and awe in his voice, Arwen wished to ask him more but a bell was rung and the servants began to usher people into the Hall of Fire, where the night's entertainments were going to be held. The young Gondorian helped the nobleman to his right out of his seat and gave him his arm to support him. The Dwarves of Moria stayed for a bit to speak with Elrond and Arwen seemed to fight the desire to seek out the Gondorian man. Just then a nervous looking elf walked up to the head table and after giving a slight bow to Elrond and Celebrian he said,

"My lord and lady, forgive me for the intrusion but Master Mithrandir has just arrived with your sons…"

"Elrohir and Elladan are here as well?"

Celebrian said, almost startled by the news that her sons accompanied the old Istar.

"Yes my lady, shall I escort them to your private quarters and have dinner prepared for them?"

"Of course Menelalaith, and find somewhere in our home to house Mithrandir…perhaps Master Alphindil's old room, that is of course if Lord Glorfindel does not mind…I am sorry to ask my dear friend but the house is uncommonly full."

"It would be an honor to have Mithrandir share my quarters, my Lady."

Cirdan watched as they spoke together and he laughed a little inside his head; to mortals no doubt the elves seem slightly out of time and more concerned with the spirit than the body but to one as old as Cirdan they were still vibrant and very common place and mundane, or at least they could be. The sound of music entered his ears as the Hall of Fire came alive with the sound of minstrels and a light spring dance. His eyes then fell upon the young elf known as Arwen; she stood at the entrance to the Hall of Fire watching the merriment of the dancing yet her eyes darted here and there and her crossed arms were set firmly around her breast. He walked over to her and followed to where her eyes fell, upon the young Gondorian soldier who was doting upon the old man he came with.

"Does something trouble you about that young man my dear?"

He said in a slight whisper,

"No…Well, yes…this whole business of the East…it makes me wonder."

"If Celebrin is out there?"

"You think so too?"

"Well if he is not with you and he is not with your grandfather or your uncle, I am at a loss to think of where he went…He did not tell me where he was going."

Cirdan said this with a tinge of sadness in his voice as well as frustration, Celebrin's whereabouts after that fateful day, on which he left Mithlond had eluded him. His travels brought him first by ship to Edhellond where Galadriel and Celeborn ruled by the southern shores and then to Lorien where Amroth gave him the swan brooch of Alphindil saying he did not feel right keeping it. And then finally he went to Thranduil's realm before ending his journey in Imladris and still no word or rumor of Celebrin reached him. Arwen's voice broke his concentration,

"He did not tell anyone where he was going…Every time a traveler comes from the East or South my mother bids them stay and tries to learn any news, it is why there are so many visitors now."

"And she has found nothing?"

"Nothing worth mentioning; the closest we came to news about anything akin to an elf in the Eastern lands was that tale, which was told by yonder soldier. If only I could get him alone, to ask him more questions."

"I think that might not be advisable."

At this the young she-elf turned to face him a defiant look in her eye,

"I am no weakling maiden, I do not fear the advances of men…"

"I did not think that my lady, only that I suppose all you would get from him would be the superstitions that he has heard from the people of the East, whom he was trained to view as an enemy, nothing more. Moreover, if I know Celebrin he would not openly reveal himself to a man of the West, for fear that we might learn about his whereabouts and draw him back here by force or guile."

"Do you truly think that he hates us that much?"

Cirdan looked into Arwen's innocent gaze and a well of salty tears began to fill the corner of his eyes; his brow furrowed and for a moment he hesitated,

"He could never hate you young one…you were dear to him. But I think he has suffered wounds which will take a very long time to heal."

"How did he come to seek exile from his kin Hir Cirdan? He spoke often of something that happened between you and he but never said anymore in my presence other than it was something…terrible."

"Perhaps it was…though I did it…What I did, I did because I only wanted the best for him."

"What was it…?"

Cirdan opened his mouth when Celebrian touched his shoulder and said to her daughter in a whisper,

"Arwen, please go see to your brothers, they have just arrived and will need you to help them get ready…"

Arwen nodded her head and bid Cirdan farewell; Celebrian smiled as though nothing were the matter before taking Cirdan's arm and slowly walking him away from the Hall of Fire and onto the porch that looked out over the flowing Brunien. She spoke in a whisper that only they could hear,

"My sons are fierce hunters and talented in the ways of wandering but when it comes to proper attire for noble guests they are without wits…Please understand Cirdan, my daughter loved Celebrin as much as I, but I kept from her the reason behind his leaving because…Because she would have blamed you, and I know she respects you now and I would not have her blaming so noble a lord and so good a family friend."

"But it was my fault my lady…I…"

At this she squeezed his arm and looked deeply into his ancient eyes,

"You did what you thought best…what I suppose any one of us would have done with Alphindil's good health in mind. Celebrin…Celebrin never had a chance to mourn, he went from his parents' death to constructing a city to serving my father, to war and to caring for Alphindil and his injuries, without a moment of rest or a time to lash out at the world for the sorrow he has experienced. All this he kept bottled up and Alphindil leaving was what, in the end, broke him…I loved your foster-son my lord, as a brother and as a friend, but I know how selfish he can be when it comes to his grief…His self-imposed exile was his own doing, not yours…"

Cirdan wiped a tear from his eyes and simply nodded his head, still the guilt was felt in his heart and he longed to hear something definitive of what happened to his fosterling. Just then a bent figure appeared in his eyes, covered in shadow and leaning heavy upon a staff. Mithrandir walked into the light of the stars and moon giving a deep bow to Celebrian,

"My lady I must speak with you…Cirdan!? I did not expect to see you here!"

"And here I am old friend and I did not expect to see you!"

At this Cirdan embraced the old man; he made to walk away saying,

"I shall leave you to your business, perhaps we can catch up later on?"

Mithrandir coughed and said, haltingly,

"Nay my friend, perhaps it is best that you remain…My words are meant for you as well…though I admit I am not yet fully ready to say them."

Cirdan looked at Mithrandir in the eyes and knew somehow in the depths of his soul that the old Istar was tortured and burdened somehow; even his body showed it for the last time Cirdan saw him he stood tall and straight whereas now he seemed to carry a heavy burden. Mithrandir sat upon a richly carved wooden chair and seemed to stare at the floor for a brief moment. Cirdan and Celebrian looked at him with worry written upon their faces.

"I…I have just returned from the East. You no doubt know that I served upon Ciryaher Hyarmendacil's army as one of his generals and my travels have at long last brought me back here. I should have arrived sooner but the needs of my order and my mission took me to other places and it was when I arrived in Edhellond that I took up with your sons Celebrian, or rather that they joined me as I made my journey northward. I agreed to go and fight in the young king's war because Saruman bid me do so…he would not trust Radagast with such a charge and a part of me wished to find any news of my kinsmen, for good or ill."

"And?"

Celebrian said, anxiously,

"I found them…alive and well…they found refuge among the Eastern peoples and orchestrated a great council of nations to oppose Khamul, the dark shadow of the East. They aided the King of Gondor and led him to victory."

"This was not told to us by the men of Gondor."

"No, my lady they would not tell you this, the alliance which Hyarmendacil struck up does not sit well with many in Gondor and few in Eriador like it either, for it came at great cost to their purses and their pride."

Cirdan crossed his arms over his chest and said stoically,

"And Celebrin?"

Mithrandir paused for a moment and an inner fire burned in his eyes, as though the scenes of his memory were playing before him. Celebrian sat down upon a stone bench, crossing her arms over her breast grabbing her upper arms as though she wished to keep warm. A cold chill ran down her back and the little silver hairs that were on the nape of her neck stood on end.

"He was there too… When I saw him at the beginning of the war he seemed as one changed, he smiled often and had seemed to find his place at long last. He fought alongside the Eastern peoples as their war captain and long attempted to destroy Khamul's control over the East…He was very devoted to their hopeless cause…well not so hopeless it seems."

Celebrian let out a sigh of relief and joy,

"That is no small wonder…Celebrin always wished to side with the outmatched, he once said it felt as though he were living up to his father's memory."

Cirdan kept his eyes on the Istar, sensing he was holding something back, Mithrandir tried to avoid his gaze and Celebrian was about to ask more but Cirdan cut in his voice slightly broken,

"Was? You seem very careful to use the past tense Mithrandir…"

Celebrian stood and laughed a little as she placed a soft hand on his shoulder,

"I am sure it is not intentional Cirdan… He is only relating things that once happened, please, Mithrandir, tell us more. Is Celebrin returning now that the war is over? Is there any way we can send word to him, some letters perhaps? Now that there is peace there, surely we can find some way of visiting him? "

Celebrian came to sit beside the aged Istar, her questions becoming more frantic with his refusal to answer them. Mithrandir looked at Cirdan in the eyes, directly, the depth of their fire seemed to smolder between the two for a brief moment, Mithrandir's aged voice quivered for a bit and then said softly,

"I do not know how else to say it, or in what words I can ease the bitterness of the message I have come to bring. Do not look for his return Cirdan…He is lost to the elven kind, never again will his feet wander the paths of the West, nor his voice echo in the halls of the elves."

"No! It can't be!"

The cry came from behind them and when they turned they saw Arwen holding onto a column, hiding in the shadows, she left her place of hiding and came to Celebrian kneeling at her feet and strongly grabbing at her knees,

"You do not believe him do you mother? He lies!"

Celebrian firmly grabbed her daughter upon he shoulder and said, fighting through her own tears,

"Hush now! Is this how you speak to your father's guest? Mithrandir…he has never lied to us…"

Cirdan kept looking at Mithrandir, calmly he said,

"How?"

"There was a great battle several years ago for the city of Umbar, this you know…Celebrin was fighting to destroy the city of Khamul while Hyarmendacil fought for the shores of Umbar. It was a great battle and I joyful to hear that it ended in victory and Khamul left the lands of the East, to where I do not know… When I journeyed to the East to bear witness to the King's victory…I searched for Celebrin, to congratulate him on his victory…but alas, I could not find the elf, his star…his star had fallen in that battle, never to rise again."

Cirdan looked at Mithrandir and saw truth in his eyes, slowly he closed his eyes and remembered his fell dream, of the shadowed figure taken by the great crow, that ancient bringer of death. He slowly placed his quivering hands over his face and turned to look at the dark starlit skies. And for the first time in centuries Cirdan, the Ship-wright of Mithlond let out a fey cry of true unbridled grief. The ancient elf fell to his knees and the ladies of Imladris came to his side. Mithrandir did not stay that night in Elrond's house, nor did he venture there for a long time after; his travels took him many places and it would be many years before he would see Cirdan again.


End file.
